


I can't let him go

by saquashing



Series: The Time We Spent Together [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Toby Smith | Tubbo, Depression, Disturbing Themes, Established Karlnap, Everyone Needs Therapy, Gaslighting, George needs therapy, Human Trafficking, Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Poisoning, Possesive Dream, President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Protective Karl Jacobs, Protective Wilbur Soot, Schlatt is as bad as they get, Stockholm Syndrome, Trauma, Vice President TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur just misses George man, Wilbur needs therapy, and hugs, because I said so, eventual georgebur, eventually, mild homophobia, sapnap has fire powers, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saquashing/pseuds/saquashing
Summary: All at once, the memories of that came crashing down on him.  The way that George had desperately hugged him, the pleading and terrified look in his eyes as Dream had dragged him away, the note that had been shoved in his jacket pocket. Sometimes, when he concentrated, he could still smell the sweet scent of his shampoo when he inhaled.“We’re by no means giving up-” Tommy assured, grabbing Wilbur’s shoulder, “-We’ll find him. I just wanted to make sure I told you in person, so you didn’t think we were abandoning hope.”PT 2 of Are You Sure
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot, Karl Jacobs & Wilbur Soot, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Sapnap & Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, mentioned
Series: The Time We Spent Together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088588
Comments: 86
Kudos: 338





	1. The moon

**Author's Note:**

> back and with more angst than ever :)

Sweat clung to the back of Wilbur’s neck, the hot temperatures of early summer unpleasantly heating his skin. He held a hand above his eyes, squinting away the glaring sunlight. 

“Tommy, are you ready or not?” He sighed, exasperation filling his voice. He lifted a hand to his tense neck, rubbing the now permanent knots that resided in his muscles. “-Tommy?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m ready, be patient Wilbur, you’re talking to the vice president now.” Tommy replied, moving away from where he was discussing taxes with a merchant, a cheerful grin splitting his lips and his eyes bright. 

Wilbur hated to admit it, but L’Manburg under Tubbo’s and Tommy’s leadership had flourished, both teenagers taking their roles and prospering under it. With a little help from Philza and Wilbur, of course. 

Wilbur rolled his eyes, half-heartedly reciprocating the grin. “Tell me to be patient again and I’ll punt you, gremlin child. You’re the one that asked me to meet you here.” 

Tommy laughed, leaning his neck back and letting the sound escape his throat with little care to contain himself. Wilbur ignored the annoyed glances of passers-by, enjoying how the teen could still laugh so freely, despite everything they’d been through. 

He let his own lips twist up, eyes softening. He pushed Tommy’s shoulder, lightly, gathering his attention. “Are you going to tell me what I’m doing here, or just laugh?” 

“Ok, ok, ok,” Tommy replied, grabbing Wilbur’s wrist and tugging lightly, “let’s take a walk, yeah?” 

Wilbur nodded, walking beside his younger brother, admiring the regular hustle of L’Manburg during the day. “You really have done a good job, Tommy. Tubbo too.” 

Light pink colored the blonde’s cheeks, and he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck awkwardly, “It’s mainly Tubbo. Who knew he was a leader? I sure didn’t.”

“Stop that, Tommy.” Wilbur chastised, grabbing the blonde’s shoulders, brown eyes meeting blue, “Don’t sell yourself short, we’ve all seen how hard you’ve been working. I know dad is proud, I am too.” 

Tommy looked at his shoes, pretending to find the worn leather interesting, taking in a shaky breath, “Thank you, Wilbur.” 

Wilbur pulled away from the blonde, who raised his head. The older looked to the sky, admiring the deep blue, “So what did you want to talk about? I can read you, Tommy, what’s up?”

“Well-” Tommy started, swallowing roughly and looking anywhere but Wilbur, “It’s about leading, actually.” 

At that, Wilbur’s attention fell solely back on the younger man, eyebrows furrowed, “Is everything okay? Is someone giving you trouble?” 

Tommy shook his head, long blonde hair flopping as he moved, reminding Wilbur of a dog. He stifled the urge to laugh, and bit his lip. 

“No-no nothing like that.” Tommy replied, “It’s just- Tubbo and I were talking. We were thinking, L’Manburg has been through so much, right?” 

Wilbur nodded.

“So Tubbo had an idea, to raise morale. A festival.” 

“A festival?”

“Yeah, to celebrate Dream leaving, for good, and to show that L’Manburg is here to stay.” 

Wilbur let his eyelids close, and he chewed the inside of his lip, attempting to contain the wave of emotions the name of the masked man brought. 

All at once, the memories of that came crashing down on him. The way that George had desperately hugged him, the pleading and terrified look in his eyes as Dream had dragged him away, the note that had been shoved in his jacket pocket. Sometimes, when he concentrated, he could still smell the scent of his shampoo when he inhaled. 

He took a deep breath, “It’s a good idea, Tommy.” 

“We’re by no means giving up-” Tommy assured, grabbing Wilbur’s shoulder, “-We’ll find him. I just wanted to make sure I told you in person, so you didn’t think we were abandoning hope.”

“Thank you, Tommy.” Wilbur whispered, exhaling deeply and looking back to the sky, “Could you ever imagine this is where we’d end up?” 

“We haven’t ended up anywhere, Wilbur.” Tommy replied, “We still have places to go, people to meet, your boyfriend to get back…” 

Wilbur blushed, shoving his brother away from him playfully, “I hate you.” 

Tommy laughed, moving back to where he was standing before, “When do Sapnap and Karl get back?”

“Tonight,” Wilbur answered, “We’ll mark where they searched on the maps, and then we’ll go over the plan as to where I’m headed.”

Tommy’s face pinched, his right foot tapping against the wooden beams beneath him. The tick used to irritate Wilbur, but now it didn’t even phase him. 

“When do you leave?” 

“Late tomorrow, I’ll be gone for about a week.” 

Tommy let a soft ‘oh’ fall from his lips, eyes flicking back to the solid wood beneath them. He bit his lip, and his foot stilled.

“What are you thinking?” The older man asked, eyeing his brother carefully. 

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed, forehead creasing, “I was hoping you would come to the festival, Tubbo and I are giving speeches.” 

“You don’t give a shit about any speech, Tommy,” Wilbur replied bluntly, he could always tell when Tommy was lying, this time being no exception. 

Tommy sighed, fidgeting with his fingertips. Eventually, he faced Wilbur, deciding to bite the embarrassing bullet, “I don’t like it when you leave. Neither does Dad, I can tell. He worries you won’t come back.” 

Wilbur’s expression softened, guilt pooling in his stomach. His eyes shut again, taking a second to gather his thoughts before answering, “I will always come back, Tommy.” 

Tommy nodded, and a tense silence fell between them. 

“I can’t let him go,” Wilbur admitted, voice quiet and raw. He winced at how desperate he sounded, like he was clinging to any semblance of George he had left. And in a way, he was. He feared the second he stopped searching, George would fade away, and their time together would just be a memory. 

Tommy rubbed his arm, offering him an understanding nod, “I know.” 

Still, Wilbur’s guilt remained, residing stubbornly in his gut. He released a long exhale, letting the silence stay for a moment before speaking. 

“I’ll be back for the festival,” Wilbur said, smiling at the way Tommy’s head perked and his eyes lit up. “I wouldn’t want to miss you fumbling your way through a speech.” 

Tommy scoffed, hitting his shoulder. “I’m not going to  _ fumble,  _ Wilbur. I’m a big man, now. Big men don’t fail.” 

“Okay, Tommy.” 

\--------

Sapnap walked briskly into the territory of L’Manburg, footsteps heavy against the wooden beams. He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding with the force. His muscles shook, vibrating and tensing with every move he made, but he couldn’t hold still. 

Two months. Two months of searching through biome after biome, village after village, even the nether. Yet there was no sign of George. 

It was like he never existed, just an intricate Folie a Deux shared by the citizens of L’Manburg and the Dream SMP. Time after time, when he asked merchants and villagers if they’d seen a short man accompanied by a masked psychopath, he was met with strange looks and demands to be left alone. 

It felt pointless, like he was holding onto a rope as tight as he could, but someone much stronger than him was pulling it away, leaving him grasping at thin air. He felt like they were so close, like at any second they would turn a corner, and George would be waiting, a bright smile on his face and arms open, calling him an idiot. 

But with every corner, every hill, every new village, they were met with absolutely nothing. No sightings, no clues, nothing. 

He stopped suddenly, causing Karl to jump slightly behind him. Without hesitating, the older man took his hand, rubbing circles onto the back of his palm.

Sapnap shuddered but didn’t pull away. He closed his eyes, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill from behind his eyelids. He was so incredibly frustrated and exhausted. They had both been pushing themselves as much as they could. Barely giving them time to sleep, eat, and apply salves and fresh bandages to Karl’s healing wounds. 

Sapnap looked directly into Karl’s eyes, before wrapping his arms around him. Despite his injuries, he stayed by his side, never complaining. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, grasping at the older’s dust-covered shirt desperately. Hot tears dripped from his cheekbones onto Karl’s shoulder, soaking through almost instantly. They had both been through hell, but Sapnap was immensely grateful he wasn’t alone. 

“Hey-hey, no-” Karl hushed, rubbing his back. “Don’t apologize, Sap. He’s your best friend, if anything, your determination is sexy.” 

Sapnap let out a watery chuckle, pulling away from the elder.

“Yeah, this-” He replied, waving a hand in front of his tear-stained cheeks and wrinkled clothes, “- is soo sexy.” 

Karl laughed, the sound immediately soothing Sapnap’s irritation, like medicine. 

The elder leaned in slowly, wrapping his hands around Sapnap’s neck to pull him closer. 

“Very sexy,” He whispered, pressing his lips softly against the others, not minding the slightly chapped skin. 

Sapnap shuddered under his touch, threading his own hands through Karl’s hair, pulling him closer. 

A small cough broke them apart, both separating suddenly. Wilbur and Tommy stood in front of them, both trying and failing to stifle their grins.

A deep blush filled Sapnap’s cheeks, he looked to Karl for support but saw his boyfriend only sporting a large, cocky grin. He rolled his eyes before clearing his throat, trying to will the embarrassment away. 

Out of all the people that had to catch him kissing his boyfriend, why did it have to be Tommy? He was never going to live this down.

“So it looks like you two had fun.” The blonde said, wiggling his eyebrows vigorously. 

Sapnap rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, “Is it impossible for you to mind your own business?”

“Yes.” 

Sapnap looked to Wilbur, whose face was expressionless, scanning the couple. His eyes briefly flashed with pain, before he hid it away again, so quick Sapnap wasn’t sure if it was ever there. His own guilt took over and the air became tense. 

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. Wilbur knew. George was still missing, alone, with Dream. Like the self-sacrificing prick he was. 

“I’m sorry, Wilbur.” He finally said, biting his lip. He didn’t know the extent of his relationship with George, but he had seen how worried he had been the past two months, sacrificing countless nights of sleep to aid in the search. 

Wilbur shook his head, sniffling slightly, before wiping his eyes. He offered him an obviously fake smile, “It’s fine. I’ll head out first thing tomorrow morning.” 

Tommy frowned from his brother’s side, and Karl mirrored the action. He had grown to like Wilbur over the past couple of months, and he didn’t like how much of themselves Sapnap and Wilbur had been giving up to search. He understood it, but he didn’t like it. 

“Do you want some company?” Karl asked, ignoring Sapnap’s pointed looks, “I don’t mind, really.” 

Sapnap shook his head, pulling his boyfriend closer to his chest, “You need to rest. You’ve already done enough, we don’t need to agitate your wounds more.” 

He went to argue, but Wilbur cut him off. 

“Sapnap is right.” He said, “You both need rest. Niki and Ranboo are home if you want them to check and make sure everything is healing properly.” 

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” Tommy agreed, “You don’t want gangrene and shit.” 

“Do you know what gangrene is?” Sapnap laughed, rubbing Karl’s back tenderly. He tried with every move of his muscle to show how much the other man meant to him. 

Tommy shook his head, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows, “I have no idea, I just read about it in a book.” 

“You can read?!” Karl gasped, eyes widening dramatically and mouth falling open.

The teenager frowned, facing his brother and pouting, “Wilbur! They’re being mean! Aren’t you going to do something!” 

Wilbur laughed, it was short-lived, but it was a genuine laugh. Sapnap hadn’t heard him laugh in a long time, it was nice to know it was still possible.

“As far as I’m concerned, they’re doing a public service.” 

Tommy glared, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest, “You can’t talk to me that way. I’m the vice-president, I’ll have you arrested and shit.” 

“I’m shaking.” Karl deadpanned, nuzzling his face into Sapnap’s shoulder.

“Sapnap, I was meaning to ask you-” Wilbur interrupted, “Did you have any… incidents, while you two were gone?” 

Sapnap winced, face pinching and hands clenching tighter around Karl, “You mean did I burn any houses down?” 

Tommy chuckled, rocking on his feet, “I don’t know why you don’t like having fire powers, I would love that.” 

“If you had it everything you touch would become ash.” Wilbur replied bluntly, before turning back to Sapnap, “I’m just asking, because I know my dad was worried. He could probably help you try to get more control over it.” 

“Does Philza have fire powers, now?” Sapnap responded, voice dripping in sass. He hated everything about his situation. He couldn’t feel any amounts of anger without worrying about seriously hurting someone. 

Karl lightly hit his chest, glaring at him, “It wouldn’t hurt to try.” 

He hummed, chewing the inside of his cheek. Neither Tommy nor Wilbur looked upset at his snark, which he was grateful for. The last thing he wanted was to fight with them, not when George was still out there. 

Then he considered the actual offer, it might not hurt to talk to Philza. He knew what it was like to have something different about him, quite a few people in L’Manburg did, but there was no way he was going to Technoblade. 

Who knows, maybe he could help. 

\----

Embers danced in front of George’s face, illuminating his pale skin with oranges and reds. It reminded him of catching fireflies with Sapnap and Dream, in the fields behind the city they used to live in. 

He rested his forehead in his hands, elbows on his knees. He was sat in front of a large campfire, soaking up the warmth as the night approached, the sun dipping below the horizon and cool night sky taking its place. 

He heard footsteps behind him and shut his eyes, staying quiet as his masked captor sat next to him on the grass, leaning back and propping himself on his elbows. 

“This is nice, Georgie.” Dream said, looking at the stars appearing as the sky got darker. 

George looked up, the constellations gracing the night sky painfully reminding him of the first night he spent with Wilbur. His heart clenched at the thought of the other man. He wondered what he was doing if he was okay. That’s all he wanted, was for him to be okay. 

_ Do you have a favorite planet, Wilbur? _

_ I don’t.  _

He looked to the moon, it was a waxing crescent, only days till it would be completely full. George remembered the books he read as a child, gazing intently at the bright white light, he felt as if it was looking back at him, giving him strength. 

His mom died when he was little, and his father turned to alcohol and gambling to solve his problems. He used to sneak into the small bookshop on the corner of the street and read anything he could get his hands on, trying to distract himself from his troubled home life.

His favorite book, he couldn’t remember the name, taught him about the moon. About its symbolism, about the goddess it represented. Whenever he needed strength, he would always find the moon. 

The waxing crescent represented faith and positivity, it was when you were supposed to plant the seeds of your intentions and go forward with light energy. 

Despite sitting next to the man that he hated more than anything else, he smiled. He had faith that he could handle this. Keep him away from L’Manburg, from Wilbur, from Sapnap. He had faith he could stay resilient, and when the opportunity arose, he would kill him and go back home, where he was supposed to be. 

He liked to think the moon was the goddess, Artemis, and that she was helping him at all times. She was the goddess of archery, of the hunt, and nature. Twin sister of Apollo, and daughter of Zeus. 

She was the protector of women, especially during childbirth. He remembered faintly, his mother telling him before she died, that it was okay. That she wasn’t supposed to make it through labor, and she was grateful she got so long with him. He liked to think that was Artemis, and when he was little, he would leave small offerings outside, just in case, to thank her for giving him time to meet his mother. 

That’s why he took up archery, and he liked to believe that’s why he excelled at the sport. 

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Dream spoke, breaking him out of his thoughts. He felt the soft beams of light from the sky, offering him comfort.

“The moon?” George asked, voice shaky and quiet. He chastised himself for sounding so afraid. He didn’t want to give the masked man satisfaction of making him scared. 

“No,” Dream responded, either not mentioning how fearful George sounded, or didn’t notice it. The blonde shifted, closer to George, and he willed himself not to recoil.

Dream stopped when he was pressed directly against his side, placing one hand on the small of his back and pointed towards the sky. 

His touch burned George, his stomach churned, and his breath was thick. His body screamed at him, every ounce of his survival instinct telling him to run. But he didn’t. 

He sat stiff as a board but looked to where Dream was pointing. 

“Jupiter.” The blonde said simply, the thumb that sat on the small of his back started rubbing, gentle, but possessive. 

George knew what it meant. It wasn’t comfort, it was showing him how pliant he had gotten the smaller man and shoving it down his throat arrogantly. 

He didn’t know exactly how much time had passed, but he knew from the moon cycle that it had been roughly two months. The time would crawl by, but then he would blink and a week would have passed. He felt like he was moving on auto-pilot.

There had been a couple of times, where George regretted his decision, breaking down and trying to escape, or fight back. But Dream always managed to catch up. He was a step ahead at all times. 

Dream placed his other hand on his thigh, just above his knee. George closed his eyes out of reflex, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. His heart raced, but he remained still. A large voice in the back of his head telling him to fight, to turn and bite him, anything other than sit there and let Dream touch him like he was his. 

The hand on his thigh rose slightly, and he recoiled. He shifted away from him, the small inches between Dream’s hand and his skin finally giving him the room to breathe. 

“Stop being so dramatic, Georgie.” Dream chastised, reaching his hand back out towards him. 

George slapped it away, stubbornly staring at the fire. He focused on the feeling of the cool moonbeams on his exposed skin, relishing the slight comfort it gave him. 

He heard Dream huff before a warmth surrounded him. Dream had his chest against his back, arms draped over his shoulders, and calloused hands resting on his own. He felt the blonde hum in disapproval, and a tear involuntarily ran down his face. 

The moon would protect him, no matter what happened. 

“You just don’t know what’s good for you,” Dream whispered, his voice thick like honey but laced with poison. He rubbed his rough palms against George’s forearms, causing him to shudder and shake his head. 

“Wilbur let me make my own choices,” George whispered, choking on his own tears. 

Dream froze against him, and he silently cursed at himself. He shouldn’t have poked the bear, now whatever was about to happen would be 10 times worse. Wilbur was Dream’s button, and whenever he was brought up, the blonde lost all control. 

Dream grabbed his wrists and pushed him forward suddenly, forcing his palms against the scorching rocks. 

George screamed, pushing back with as much strength as he could muster, but Dream held him in place for another couple of seconds. 

The searing pain shot from his fingertips, through his palms, and up to his arms. When he was finally released he held his hands to his chest, sobs racking through his frail body. 

The pressure released from his back and Dream stood up, “Don’t ever say his name again.” 

George laid in the field, holding his hands and letting himself cry. The pain was overwhelming, clouding his brain. 

After a couple of minutes, he felt two large hands wrap under his back and knees, picking him up like he weighed nothing. 

Dream pulled him close to his chest, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. He carried him to their small cottage, kicking the slightly ajar door open and then using his foot to maneuver it shut behind them. He carried George to his bed, which they had yet to share, George, always opting to stay on the couch.

After he laid the crying man on the covers, he walked to their bathroom. George could hear him digging around, but paid it no mind. The burning of his charred skin making it impossible to think of anything else. 

Eventually, the blonde came back in, holding a bowl of iridescent liquid and an assortment of bandages. 

Dream reached out for George’s scorched hands, and he recoiled, crying harder. 

“George.” He said, clenching his jaw, “stop being stubborn, give me your hands.” 

He bit his lip so hard it drew blood, the copper taste on his tongue offering a slight distraction to the pain in his palms. Shakily, he obeyed, reaching out towards the blonde. 

“Good. That wasn’t so hard was it?” 

George cried out when Dream grasped one of his hands, laying it flat on the bed. The taller man dipped a bandage into the bowl, before tenderly wrapping it around his palm. George winced at the obtrusively cold feeling against his hot hands, but it soon soothed the pain and he almost cried in relief. 

Dream tightened the wrap, making sure it wouldn’t fall off during the night, before kissing his bandaged knuckles and laying them gently on the mattress. 

He repeated the actions with his other hand, and this time George didn’t wince or pull back, letting the soaked bandages ease the pain. 

When both of his palms were wrapped, and his pain subsided, exhaustion clouded his mind. He barely registered the fact that Dream got into bed with him, wrapping them up in his blanket, he didn’t even notice when the blonde’s heavy arm wrapped over his chest, pulling him in close. 

“I would never do anything to hurt you, Georgie-” He heard Dream whisper as he fell in and out of consciousness, “Everything I do is for you.” 

He felt a light kiss against his tangled hair before sleep finally took him. 


	2. The festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur keeps his promise, but a conversation with Philza has him questioning things. 
> 
> Tubbo gets an offer. 
> 
> George and Dream have a heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check me out on Tumblr at Slushiesforcar

Tommy wiped a dusty hand over his forehead, ridding his pale skin of the sweat that had gathered on his face. Sure, it would be easier to let everyone else prepare for the festival, but this way he could make sure everything was perfect. 

After all, Wilbur was going to be there. He was going to be there, and he was going to watch his speech, and everything would be okay again. 

His brother had been back in L’Manburg off and on for a couple of months now, and while their relationship had been growing stronger, he still felt the need to prove himself. If he could show Wilbur he had everything under control, he could relax, and maybe, just maybe, he could keep him from leaving again. 

His family could be together again, for good. 

There were only a couple of hours before the festival began, and he couldn’t help the excitement that was bubbling in his chest. 

His icy-blue eyes scanned the stage, making sure the finished product was nothing less than perfect. Decorative balloons and streamers filled the podium and surrounding areas. The bright colors contrasting against the natural hues of stone and grass, lightening the atmosphere greatly. 

As he looked up at the stage, his lungs started constricting and his throat tightened. His excitement faded and low levels of panic took its place, but he couldn’t look away. 

It felt like just yesterday when he and Wilbur were hiding on top of a roof, watching as Schlatt and Quackity encased Tubbo in concrete and threatened his life in front of all of L’Manburg. It was one of the worst things he had ever had to witness. 

He would do anything to protect his friends and family now. The jagged scars that covered Tubbo’s jawline and neck served as a constant reminder of what happened when he failed.

He gasped when a voice spoke beside him, sending his heartbeat skyrocketing.

“I’m glad we decided to redo the stage,” The voice said calmly. 

Tommy placed a hand on his heart, glaring at his companion. “Jesus Christ Tubbo, don’t sneak up on me like that.” 

Tubbo didn’t respond. If Tommy didn’t know better, his numb face would have come across as bored, but his pained eyes betrayed him. Tubbo caressed his shoulder, discolored skin peeking out of the soft cotton. 

Tommy’s eyes softened, following Tubbo’s gaze and looking back to the stage. “It’s going to be good this time, Tubbo. No one is going to hurt us.” 

Tubbo nodded, closing his eyes and taking in a shaky breath, before forcing a smile on his chapped lips, “Do you have your speech prepared?” 

Tommy nodded, “It’s going to be the best speech L’Manburg has ever heard. Your’s isn’t going to compare.”

“Wilbur’s coming, right?”

He bit his lip, fingers pulling at the hem of his t-shirt. A small part of him told him not to get his hopes up, and to expect disappointment, but years of being Tubbo’s friend had rubbed off on him and he couldn’t help but feel optimistic, “Yeah. Hopefully, he found George already so he can stay here for good.” 

Tubbo hummed in consideration, finally tearing his eyes away from the stage, “Did Wilbur ever tell you more about his and George’s relationship?” 

“No. The only thing he said was that George left with Dream to keep everyone safe; apparently, Dream had this creepy obsession with him or something,” Tommy explained, thinking back to his conversation with Wilbur almost a week ago, “Wilbur told me he couldn’t let him go. I don’t know what that means.” 

“It means your brother and George probably got together while on the run, don’t you think?” Tubbo replied, a playful smile tugging the corner of his lips up, “Maybe they’re secretly in love.” 

Tommy nodded, raising his fingers to his mouth and biting his nails. Tubbo was joking, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel they were a lot closer to the truth that they thought.

“I mean, they were alone together for a long time, relying on each other and crap,” Tubbo continued, “I’m sure they got close.” 

“George could be your new brother-in-law!” 

The blonde groaned, rubbing his hands through his hair. “Shut up.”

He used to joke around with Wilbur all the time about how everyone simped for George. If he did too, Tommy would never let him live it down. 

“It’s a good thing!” Tubbo giggled, “You could be related to  _ the  _ GeorgeNotFound!” 

“I’m going to stab you,” Tommy shot back, though the small giggles that escaped his throat revealed the lack of hostility. “I should probably go get cleaned up and shit, I’ll see you later man.” 

Tubbo nodded in acknowledgment, watching as his best friend walked away. As he turned to stare up at the stage ahead of him, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to call out again, asking for Tommy to stay by his side. 

As he inhaled, he swore he could still smell the gunpowder, concrete, and whiskey that plagued him. 

He shivered at the thought of the last festival, raising a gentle hand back to his rather still-healing scars. They still ached, a constant reminder of what had happened. Something he would never be able to escape. 

Even if they got rid of Schlatt, and Dream stayed away for good, it wouldn’t fix the ugly red swirls on his skin. The marks might fade over time, but they would never truly go away. They would only become harder to see. They would haunt him till the end of time. 

He shook his head, forcing a smile to his chapped lips, and wiped a stay tear that had fallen. This festival was going to be good. It had to be. They had all suffered far too much pain recently, they deserved to have a little bit of fun. 

Taking in an unstable breath, he walked to the stage. He needed to face it, or his speech would end in disaster. 

His hands trembled, and his knees felt like they were seconds from giving out. The sound of his shoes echoed slightly off of the freshly laid stone, each step speeding up his rapidly beating heart. 

It was different, everything about it was different. The stone, the wood, the people, him; but still when he closed his eyes he was staring down the barrel of a crossbow, and the gunpowder was scorching his skin. 

He took to the mic stand and inhaled, forcing the memories to the back of his head and willing his hands to stay still. 

He had a country to lead now, his own problems could wait. 

\---

Wilbur weaved his way through the crowd, muttering small apologies as he shoved his way to the front. He cursed at how long it was taking to reach the front, he was already late, and this wasn’t helping. 

When he reached the stage, Tommy was standing to the side, frowning. His eyebrows were furrowed and his gaze was on the floor beneath him. It hurt Wilbur to think that he had been waiting for him, thinking he might not keep his word. 

Despite his lack of energy from traveling and his frustration at the upsetting outcome of such, he forced a smile to his face, calling out his brother's name. 

The blonde’s face lit up when he looked from the floor, sight landing on Wilbur. He jumped up and down, waving his hands rapidly. He looked so happy that Wilbur didn’t mind the people pushing and shoving around him. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here.” He heard behind him, immediately causing the smile to drop from his face, “I told Tommy not to get his hopes up.” 

Wilbur stood up straight and crossed his arms over his chest, fighting the urge to walk away and find a new spot, “Dad.” 

“Son.” 

Philza sounded void of all emotion, his expression mirroring that sentiment. It reminded Wilbur of when they were kids, and he would pull the “ _ I’m not mad, just disappointed. _ ” bit that always made him feel like a shit person. 

“I promised him I’d be here. So I’m here.” Wilbur said carefully, his diaphragm restricting and his chest growing hot. Hot tears built up behind his eyes, knowing his own father thought that low of him. 

Philza hummed, and Wilbur couldn’t tell if it was in disappointment or relief, “You don’t need to explain, I’m just glad he won’t be let down again.” 

Wilbur very nearly scoffed at ‘again’ but bit his tongue. Tommy didn’t need to see them arguing on his big day. He was going to make sure his younger brother got to relax for once. 

“No George, huh?” Philza asked, ignoring how obvious it was that Wilbur wanted this conversation to end. 

“What does it look like?” 

Phil put a hand on WIlburs shoulder, which he immediately shrugged off. If looks could kill, Philza would be six feet under, “Have you considered maybe he doesn’t want to be found?” 

Wilbur immediately shook his head, scowling harder at his father, “He sacrificed himself, for me. He doesn’t want to be found, but he needs to be.” 

“You’re blaming yourself too much, why would he sacrifice himself for you, Wilbur?” 

The brunette closed his eyes, his mind replaying those final moments before George had been dragged away. 

_ I love you, Wilbur.  _

He held back his emotions, keeping them far, far away in the back of his mind. The last place he was going to break down was in the center of L’Manburg, in front of Philza. 

“You can’t keep searching, it’s not good for you-”

Wilbur shook his head again, stepping away from his dad. His heart was racing, and he felt faint. He needed this conversation to end. 

“Your family is here-”

“He’s my family too.” 

The sound of the microphone being turned on interrupted their conversation, and Wilbur looked back to Tommy, who was smiling at Tubbo and pointing out his brother in the crowd. 

He waved to Tubbo when he saw him, and let himself put the conversation with his Dad out of his mind. Today wasn’t about him. 

Tommy stepped to the mic, and despite his fidgeting fingers and shifting eyes, it was nearly impossible to tell that he was nervous. Wilbur offered a nod, which seemed to bring a little bit of comfort. 

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everybody else welcome to the first-ever L’Manburgian Festival of Peace!” Tommy announced, a bright smile tugging his lips. He clearly inherited the family charisma, Wilbur thought. 

The crowd cheered, the applause egging the vice-president on, “We’re here today to celebrate the end of tyranny, of violence, of war, and celebrate our great country!” 

“But as we’re gathered here today, I want to spend some time to recognize our history! Something, while not always positive, shall never be forgotten.” 

“I remember the day we left the Dream SMP, back when this land was filled with trees and unclaimed territory. We fought wars for this country, for our freedom, against dictators and tyrants, and we’re still here. Better and stronger than ever.” 

A small smile, this time genuine, tugged at his lips as nostalgia seeped into his veins, pumping through his body with every beat of his heart. 

_ Do you want to make drugs, Tommy?  _

It was crazy to think about how an entire country, a very successful one at that, was created off of them making drugs in a van to piss off Dream. 

Back then he didn’t really know George, except as one of Dream’s best friends and loyal side-kick. He has always been blank, emotionless, apathetic. But somehow, that made Wilbur that much more drawn to him. 

He wanted to see what he looked like smiling, laughing, crying. Maybe his attraction to him did start as something shallow and petty, the desire to steal something of Dream’s and shove it in his face. But now he couldn’t imagine his life without George, and he didn’t want to.

He understood how George must feel now, with his lack of colors. Wilbur had been spoiled, with his laughs and smiles. He had gotten used to his warmth and how his arms wrapped around his chest. 

Now, without him, his life felt gray. 

“-Now a word from our president!” Tommy concluded, ripping him from his melodramatic thoughts. He shook his head, focusing back on what was happening on the stage. 

Tubbo shook Tommy’s hand, a large smile on his face. He looked a lot more nervous than Tommy, biting his lip and scratching the back of his neck. 

It made sense, Wilbur thought. The last time the teenager was on that stage giving a speech, he left with new scars that would never be fully erased.

Out of pure protective instinct, Wilbur scanned the stage and then down to the crowd. Tubbo was his family, too. He didn’t want to see him hurting like that ever again. 

“Hi!” Tubbo beamed, anxiety radiating off of him, but despite that, he still kept his grin, “Welcome everyone - I’m so glad you all could make it!” 

The speech drowned out yet again as Wilbur caught sight of a tall blonde barreling towards him. The teenager immediately wrapped his arms around him, his childlike smile making Wilbur soften and reciprocate the hug. 

Sure, Tubbo was the clingy one, Wilbur thought. 

“Did you see that?!” He whispered, pulling back from the embrace and focusing on his friend, offering him a thumbs up, “I totally had them hanging off my every word! I’m incredible.” 

Wilbur chuckled, “It was very nice, Tommy.” 

“Just nice?!”

Wilbur shushed him, gesturing towards Tubbo, “Pay attention.” 

They both looked back to the stage, and Wilbur felt genuine pride in his chest watching Tubbo talk. L’Manburg was healing, and so was the president. 

“I’m so grateful for the opportunity to lead this great nation, and I know that both Tommy and I have many plans for how to improve the country.” 

Tommy nodded by his side, mumbling, “We do, we do.” 

“-But I’ll stop taking up your time, I know you aren’t here for me. Please, go enjoy the festival!” Tubbo concluded, the crowd cheering and clapping around them. The energy was contagious, and Wilbur raised his own hands, clapping and whooping. 

The crowd slowly dispersed, all leaving to play games and get food, but the three sleepy bois stood in place, waiting for the president to join them. 

“So what did you actually think?” Tommy asked, biting his lip. He may be the vice-president, but he still craved validation, especially from his older brother. “I told you I wouldn’t fail.” 

Wilbur hummed, ruffling the blondes once neatly groomed hair, “It was okay, I guess,” 

“It was very nice, Tommy. You did a great job.” Philza cut in, patting the blonde’s shoulder. He gave him a small, but genuine smile. Wilbur rolled his eyes at the action, a scowl involuntarily taking over his face. 

Tommy seemed oblivious to the tension between the two adults, which Wilbur was grateful for, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he caught on. 

“Tommy!” 

The three turned to face the side of the stage, where Tubbo came barreling from, a smile on his lips that rivaled the sun. His excitement spread through the group instantly, melting the agitation between them. 

“Ayy! Tubbo!” Wilbur greeted, pulling the shortest boy into a hug, clapping his shoulder, “Your speech was so much better than Tommy’s! Good job!”

Despite the teasing tone, Tubbo still smiled. His hands were practically vibrating at his side and his foot tapped against the ground. 

His breath shuddered as he forced himself to look back up at the stage, “That was terrifying.” He said, then closed his eyes. 

Wilbur grabbed his shoulder, forcing his attention back onto him, “You did it. It’s over. Now let’s go enjoy ourselves, yeah?”

Both Tommy and Tubbo nodded their heads vigorously, then led the group down the path. They walked a couple of feet ahead, talking animatedly about how the festival turned out. 

Philza and Wilbur stayed behind them, maintaining their slow pace and suspended in tense silence. One wrong breath and the little bit of peace between them would shatter. Wilbur clenched his fists. It was only a matter of time before-

“You know, if you stayed here, this could happen more.” 

That.

Wilbur shook his head, frustration rolling off of him in waves. He refused to look at his dad, keeping his gaze on Tommy and Tubbo, who was pointing out all of the attractions, “I already told you, George is important to me. I can’t let him stay with Dream.” 

Philza shook his head in contempt, crossing his arms over his chest, “By continuing your search, you’re putting everything at risk. Everything Tommy and Tubbo worked so hard for could be ruined. What happens when Dream hears people are looking for him? Do you want to egg him on?” 

Wilbur bit his lip, chewing on the chapped skin until the taste of copper filled his mouth. His gaze lifted to the two teens, who were running to a food cart serving funnel cake, not that they needed to get any more hyper. 

“He would kill all of us without hesitation, he already hates you. Do you want to provoke him?” Philza continued, keeping his voice low, “This may be a blessing in disguise.”

“You don’t understand-”

“Then explain it to me.” 

Wilbur took in a heavy breath, his tight lungs making the task difficult. His eyes lowered to the wooden platform, not able to look at his dad out of fear of what he would say. He wouldn’t understand. 

“When we were gone, despite everything that led to that decision, he was there. We saved each other - he  _ saved _ me.”

“So this is you feeling like you owe him?” Philza asked, attempting to soften his voice. He reached out for Wilbur, but when the taller man winced away, he recoiled.

Out of reflex, Wilbur’s hand drifted to his side. He could still feel the rough scar tissue that the potions had failed to heal. He noticed his dad's gaze follow his movements, then sharply look away, his face falling. 

Guilt flowed in his stomach, and he took a deep breath. He didn’t want to keep remembering what had happened in the room with the button, all those months ago. But no matter how much he tried to move on the fear, and by proxy, the anger, always found a way through.

His eyes focused back on the boys, who were now on their way back with many variations of fried sugar, and he pulled a smile back on his face. 

“I don’t  _ owe  _ him anything. I need him. He would do the same for me.” 

\---

Tubbo walked down the dark pathway, a churro in one hand and a plush bee in the other, his lips split in a massive grin. Most everyone had gone home for the night, including Tommy and his family, leaving Tubbo to walk to his house by himself. 

He didn’t mind. After the long day, he was happy for a minute of peace. 

The festival had gone even better than he expected, and he was thrilled. Tommy was right, L’Manburg was strong, resilient, and they would always come back. He hummed the National anthem, crafted by Wilbur ages and ages ago. 

If anyone told him in the beginning, that he would be president, he would laugh. But there he was. He let his ego inflate, just a little bit. He was the first president who had made a successful festival. 

He was good at this. 

He stopped for a moment, staring at his reflection in the pond next to him. With the shadowy-apparition, he couldn’t see the burns, and it made him feel almost relieved. 

Something was different though, as he focused on his head, rather than his torso. Sticking from his shadows hair were two curved horns. 

He gasped, lifting his hands to his head. Nothing was there. 

Tubbo turned around suddenly, eyes wide, and hands shaky. There, in front of him was the source of his nightmares and the cause of his scars. Schlatt.

“Hey there, Tubbo. Nice suit.” Schlatt greeted, with his usual arrogant smirk and stench of whiskey. It made Tubbo’s nose curl with distaste, and he backed up, hitting the fence he had just been leaning on. 

Schlatt chuckled, taking another step forward, effectively boxing him in. 

Tubbo tilted his head to the side, feeling the beginnings of tears prick his eyes. His breath was unstable, shaky, just like the rest of him. He looked around, no one was out. No one would hear him.

The horned man tilted his head, pouting. He raised one hand to his chin, forcing eye contact and feigning concern, “Aw, Tubbo. Why are you so scared?”

Tubbo whimpered, shutting his eyelids. He felt the hot tears begin to spill down his face, but he ignored them. 

The churro dropped to the ground, and he clutched the bee plush as hard as he could, the small cotton-filled item providing little comfort. 

“What do you want, Schlatt,” Tubbo asked, voice breaking. The older’s grip on his face sent him straight back to the last festival and brought to surface the weeks of abuse and hurt that he had inflicted on him. 

Schlatt hummed, and despite his closed eyes, Tubbo knew he was smirking. 

After a moment, the hand released from his face, and the teenager rubbed at his sore jaw. There would surely be bruises there tomorrow.

“I’m the king of the Dream SMP now, as you know.” 

Tubbo slowly opened his eyes, bringing the bee plush to his chest, and glared at Schlatt, the tears still spilling ridding his face of any source of intimidation, “So?   


“I was just thinking. It’s been so long since there’s been a conflict between L’Manburg and the Dream SMP, has there not?”

Tubbo nodded, not sure where the conversation was leading. 

“I mean, _ clearly _ , we’re both way better leaders than our respective countries have had before.” Schlatt continued, every word making Tubbo feel more tense, “I just want to make sure it stays that way.” 

Tubbo frowned, biting his lip, “What are you saying?”

“The Dream SMP is merely asking… for compensation if you will.” He explained, licking his lips. 

Tubbo’s stomach dropped, “What do you mean by compensation?” 

“Payment. Gold, iron, resources. We keep L’Manburg free of conflict, and you keep the Dream SMP the richest country in this region.” 

Tubbo shook his head, defiantly looking into Schlatt’s eyes, “You’re insane. There’s no way Tommy, or I for that matter, would want to make that deal with you. L’Manburg has survived many wars with the Dream SMP, with leaders far better than you. We can survive this too.”

Schlatt clicked his tongue, shaking his head, “You can survive, sure. But think about today. Your citizens had fun for the first time in how long? They finally don’t have to worry about battle, do you really want to put everyone through that again?” 

Tubbo’s eyebrows furrowed, Schlatt had a point. 

“You’re smart, Tubbo. You know what you have to do.” He continued, slowly backing away from the president, “I expect an answer in 24 hours.”

With that, he left. 

\---

George laid on Dream's bed, the heavy blanket tucked around him. Since the incident with the fire, he stopped fighting when his captor asked to sleep in the same bed. It was better than the alternative, bruises and an uncomfortable couch. 

The sun was just rising, the beginnings of light spilling through the window, lighting the room. 

An arm was possessively strung around his waist, restricting his movements and keeping him in place. He could feel Dream’s quiet breathing against his back. Even though he was completely and utterly exhausted, most of his nights consisted of him staring at the wall, wishing the breath of the man behind him would just stop.

His hands were almost completely healed now, he had to admit, Dream knew what he was doing. All of the bandages he used were soaked in watered-down healing potions, soothing, but keeping the burn there enough to remind him that if he fought there would be punishments. 

The sleeping man behind him stirred, and he tensed involuntarily, shutting his eyes and trying to keep his breathing calm. 

“Good morning, Georgie.” Dream said, voice thick with sleep. The blonde pressed his lips to the back of his head, laying feather-light kisses to his messy hair. Dream did the same thing every morning, and every morning George always had to keep himself from vomiting. 

“I’ll go make breakfast, yeah?” Dream whispered, the breath on his ear causing George to shudder, the frown on his lips deepening. 

George pulled away from him, trying to burrow himself deeper in the mattress. Maybe if he was lucky, it would swallow him whole. 

“I’m not hungry,” George replied stubbornly, fingers clawing into the blanket. He was starving, actually, but if he ate then Dream would win. Win what, he wasn't sure, but his pride prevented him from caving. 

Dream sighed, twisting away from him and standing. The blonde grabbed the mask on the nightstand, pulling it onto his face, “I know you are, George. You’ve barely eaten since we’ve been here.”

“Wonder why.” 

“I hate to be like this George, you know I do. But if you don’t start eating, I’m going to have to force you.” 

George sucked in a harsh breath, he knew Dream wasn’t exaggerating, he had done far worse, “Fine.”

“You know, I have been trying and trying to make this nice for us.” Dream said, irritation dripping from his voice, causing George to recoil deeper into the bed, “Do you think I wanted to leave everything behind? No! I did this for you. Why can’t you understand that everything I do is for you?” 

George stayed quiet, his hands begging to shake, and tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

Dream sighed, sitting on the foot of the bed, laying his hand onto George’s covered feet. It took everything out of him not to curl into a ball and hide. 

“I love you, Georgie.” 

George looked up to him, his eyes glassy and his voice quiet, “I thought love was a weakness?” 

Dream tilted his head back and forth, rubbing his hand up George’s calves, “You’re my weakness, George. I’m okay with that. Here, I can protect you, keep you safe, take care of you. Let me take care of you.” 

“You were going to kill everyone.” George sniffled, leaning on his elbows, “Sapnap, Tommy-” 

_ Wilbur. _

The unspoken word hung in the air, the silence as powerful as any weapon. Dream’s head snapped towards him, and his grip on his leg turned harsh. Despite the blanket covering him and softening the hold, the fingers digging into his bony leg made him gasp and attempt to pull back. 

Dream kept an iron-gripped hold on him, the mask staring him down, “They deserved it. They betrayed me, they fought against me despite knowing I was better than them! And worst of all, they managed to turn you against me.” 

“No one turned me against you, Dream. You’re different. You aren’t the same kid who found me petting the alley-cat, you aren’t the same man I build a country with. You’re insane!” George sobbed, sitting up against the headboard. 

Dream still kept hold of his leg, and the man shifted closer, twisting his legs on one side of his hips. He climbed up the mattress, both hands on either side of George’s chest, caging him in. The position showed how much larger he was, making George feel claustrophobic. 

George kept his eyes on the mask, defianitely staring back at the porcelain, preparing himself for whatever was about to happen in retaliation for his disobedience. 

Dream leaned in close to his ear, raising one hand to George’s throat. His eyes widened and his hands shot up to Dream’s, clawing and pulling as hard as he could, but nevertheless, Dream tightened his grip.

“I. Did. Not. Change.” Dream hissed, pressing his thumb into George’s artery. “You did.”

George tried to gasp, but no air entered. He choked out multiple pleas, barely escaping his mouth. The room was spinning, and darkness soon started to cloud his vision. 

“Why can’t you just be good?” Dream whispered, keeping his hold on his throat, “We could be so happy here.”

George squirmed on the mattress, eyelids growing heavy. Dream waited till he was just on the edge of unconsciousness, before releasing his grip on his bruised throat. George couldn’t do anything but lay there, chest heaving and eyes watering. 

Eventually, Dream climbed off of the bed, standing and readjusting his mask, “Get dressed and come eat. Breakfast will be done in a few.” 

With that he left the room, leaving George coughing and gasping on the bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I like how this chapter turned out, but it's been so long since I've updated  
> More Karl and Sapnap soon :) 
> 
> As always, go drink some water, get a snack, and stretch <3
> 
> Jillian if you see this, go away :)


	3. reconcile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philza helps Sapnap try to get ahold of his powers and then gives him an idea. 
> 
> Tubbo makes a decision. 
> 
> Dream extends an olive branch.

Sapnap groaned as he dropped to his knees, frustration burning him just as much as the fire that roared within him.

“Again!” 

He clambered up from the ground, his knees shaky and tired beneath his weight. Three more rounds of this and they would surely buckle beneath him.

He picked up his feet, dragging them forwards yet again and swishing his arms from his sides to his front, focusing on the burning vibrations swirling beneath his skin. 

Thinly veiled anger flourished in his chest, growing and spreading like a wildfire. He fanned the flames, focusing on everything and everyone that had ever hurt him.

He thought about George and Dream, who were off god knows where, and how he would probably never see them again. 

He remembered the fight in the castle, how he could have prevented all of this had he killed Dream right then and there. 

The world started spinning, and he knew it was time. With another heavy step forward, he closed his eyes, raising his hand and shoving it forward. 

The angry heat burned through his shoulder, down his arm, and through his palm, threatening to consume him with every breath. 

But instead of the brilliant flames that he felt in his chest erupting from his fingertips, a pathetic plume of smoke poofed from his hand, evaporating in the cool air. 

He cried out in frustration, falling to the ground in exhaustion. This was pointless. Hours of putting himself through both physical and emotional pain, and for what? A cloud of smoke?

“Sapnap, are you okay?” 

He looked up from the ground, putting his weight on his elbow and breathing heavily. With a raised hand covering the bright sun, he faced the man above him. Who looked down with concern, ready to go get help if needed. 

“I'm fine.” He mumbled, taking a couple deep breaths. 

Philza got down on one knee, laying a gentle hand on his arm, “I think that's enough for today.” 

Despite his exhaustion, Sapnap shook his head, “No-” He muttered, “We have to keep going.” 

“Sap, you can't even stand,” Philza argued, “You need to rest.”

Tears pricked the corner of the younger's eyes as his chest heaved, why couldn't he control it? Why wasn’t this helping? He should be out looking for George right now, not wasting his time with something he obviously would never get a handle on. 

“C’mon Sap, let's go get some food and recharge.” 

Philza helped him off of the ground, letting Sapnap put most of his weight on him while they slowly made their way to L’Manburg. 

They had stopped at the market, getting bread, fruit, and some ham and settling on one of the benches. Philza ate slowly, tactfully, while Sapnap embraced his hunger and scarfed it down in a few bites. 

“Why don’t you like having these abilities, Sapnap?” Phil asked when they finished, leaning against the back of the bench and facing towards the sky, soaking up the warm sun. His tone was light, easy-going. But Sapnap’s breath hitched. 

“I just don’t like it.” He answered simply. He tried to make it clear the conversation was over, standing up, but a hand on his wrist showed him who was truly in control of this conversation. With a huff, he sat back down, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Phil faced him, raising an eyebrow, “This is more than just “not liking it.’” 

Sapnap bit his lip, breaking their eye contact as he looked at the ground, “I can’t control it. I could hurt people.” He replied, quiet. His exhaustion, both mental and physical, dripped from his words. 

“When did it start?”    


Sapnap exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to bite his nails or scratch his thigh. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but the urge to distract himself from the image of Karl, bleeding out and alone, killed him.

Taking a deep breath, he answered, “When they, when they hurt Karl.” He stuttered, closing his eyes, “I found him, then suddenly everything was hot and red, and the room was spinning. Next thing I knew, the wood beneath my hands was burning.” 

Phil hummed in acknowledgment, “Do you have to be upset for it to trigger?” 

He nodded, opening his eyes yet again, wincing from the bright sunlight, “I didn’t use to have this, this  _ problem.  _ But now I can’t get it to stop.” 

“Why would you want it to stop?” The older man asked, before noticing Sapnap’s far away expression and nodding his head in understanding, “You don’t want to become like Dream.”

“He didn’t use to be like this.” Sapnap said, fighting the choking feeling in his throat, “I know it’s hard for you to understand, after everything he’s done. But he was good, to all of us. He rescued me and George. We were just kids, but he saved us. If  _ he  _ could become this-this villain! I could too.” 

They sat in silence for a minute, Philza looking up at the sky, and Sapnap sniffling beside him, before he added on, “I love Karl. I can’t imagine ever loving anyone else, but what if this takes over, and I can’t get a hold of it. I could seriously hurt him.” 

“Dream may have gotten you and George out of those situations, but you both saved yourselves. You are nothing like him. Do you think he worried about hurting the people he loved or tried to control it? No. But you are.” 

Sapnap raised his eyes carefully to Phil, who met his stare, “You have empathy. You have love. You get to make your own choices now, and you’re making the right ones.”  Any remaining composure he had left shattered, and a broken sob escaped the confines of his throat, “Th-thank you.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Phil asked, waiting for Sapnap’s tired nod before continuing, “You mentioned him rescuing you... do remember your family?” 

Sapnap inhaled shakily, wiping his eyes before answering, “I, I was too young, I don't remember anything about them.”

Phil nodded, letting a couple of beats of silence pass before speaking again, “Maybe you should think about finding them. It's your best bet at finding answers.” After he finished, he stood, “Think about it.” 

Sapnap watched him leave, mind far too preoccupied to process where he went. Phil was right, if anyone had answers as to what was wrong with him, it was his birth family. 

He needed to talk to Karl. 

\---

Tubbo sat with his head in his hands, the wood of his desk pressing painfully into his elbows. He cursed under his breath, before looking at the clock on the wall across from him. He only had a few hours, before his fate was sealed, either way. 

The deal with Schlatt was a lose-lose situation, and he didn’t see a way out of it. He wanted to go to Tommy, vent to him, and ask for advice, but he knew his friend was far too ill-tempered, and would immediately seek out the new king. 

Schlatt was right, as much as it made his stomach twist in pure and unbridled disgust, he was right. L’Manburg had been through so much recently, the explosion, rebuilding, battle after battle. His citizens deserve peace, but at what cost? 

A land free from tyranny and corruption. That’s what he had promised. 

He rubbed at his tired eyes, too anxious to have slept the night before. He was just a kid. He wondered what other teenagers his age were doing right then, and a small part of him wished that he could find out and experience it himself. 

He resented his position, just a little bit. He resented having the power, when he clearly didn’t know what he was doing. He felt like he was floundering, and that with one wrong move they would see the truth. That he was just a kid. 

With every “Yes, Mr. President,” and “Of course, Mr. President,” He felt more and more like an imposter, like at any second someone would come in and tell him his presidency was a mistake. 

But with every passing day, and with each new conflict, he knew it was too late. He would never escape this responsibility. He owed it to the people to see it through. He would never get his childhood back, he had accepted that a long time ago. It was time he accepted this too. 

Hours later, while he stood in front of the same pond he had met Schlatt the day before, he felt numb. He had heard of sacrificing yourself for the job, but the naive part of him had always assumed it would never happen to him, and that when he and Tommy took office everything would be fixed. 

“I take it you’ve made your decision?” Schlatt spoke, arrogance lacing his voice like venom. He spoke as if there was no part of his mind that thought Tubbo would refuse his offer, and the fact that he was right burned Tubbo more than his scars. 

“I have.” 

\---

Soft grass tickled George’s exposed skin as he laid in a field, watching the clouds roll by. He had nothing better to do. He had finally accepted his fate of endless days that faded by into one long, underwhelming cycle. At least the clouds were pretty. 

A gentle breeze blew by, pricking his skin and making him shiver, but he stayed still. Any amount of peace, no matter how small, was a refuge. 

He found comfort looking at the sky. No matter how far apart he was from L’Manburg, from his friends, from Wilbur, they were still under the same vast sea of blue. The same sun shined down on them, and they watched the same moon peak out from the horizon. It made him feel less lonely. 

A small smile forced its way onto his lips as he imagined life in L’Manburg. Tommy was probably driving Wilbur insane by now. He thought about Sapnap, and how hurt he must be. Guilt pooled in his stomach, hurting worse than the bruises around his neck, and he prayed they were okay.

At least they had each other and were safe. That’s what mattered. Not his aching trachea, or the painfully slow way the clouds crept across the sky. None of this mattered in the long run. 

A lone tear fell down his cheek, before dripping onto the lush grass. This was his life now, there was no running, no escaping. This was  _ it _ . 

Apathy soaked into his veins, and his smile faded. He was stuck, with Dream, forever.    


Was it worth it? Was any of  _ this _ worth it? 

There was a small part of him that wanted nothing more than to escape, to be free. Free of this burden, free of Dream, free of his bruises and nightmares. But he couldn’t leave, he knew that. It was too risky, but God did he crave that freedom. 

He heard heavy footsteps approach, and he shut his eyes, his heart racing, and bruised throat constricting. Speak of the devil, and he appears. 

“I brought you an apple. Thought you might be hungry.” Dream greeted. 

George’s eyebrows raised, and he slowly opened his eyes, Dream sounded nervous almost, or maybe it was guilt. His empathetic side immediately wanted to comfort him, and tell him it was okay. But he knew better, there was no way he could feel guilt, he was a monster. 

“I know you’re still mad at me,” He said awkwardly, shifting his weight between his feet. George didn’t need him to tell him what he was talking about, the fact that Dream refused to look at his face, or his neck, made it clear, “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I just, I get so angry when you can’t see everything I’m doing for you. For us.” 

George scoffed, turning his body away from the masked man. It was all manipulation, he reminded himself. This was a game, he just had to prove he wasn’t a pawn. 

“I-uh. I got a new bed set up, in the living room. You can have the bedroom, I’ll give you your space.” 

George inhaled sharply, and he turned back towards Dream, his eyes wide and despite his better instincts, hopeful, “What?” He asked, barely audible.    


“I realized I’ve been going about this the wrong way, I want you to like me, I want to be friends. Do you think that’s possible? Or have I messed up too much?” 

_ It’s just a game, it’s just a game, it’s just a game, _ George reminded himself, biting his tongue. If Dream was going to try to manipulate him, he might as well try to get a couple things from it. Two could play at that game.

“I don’t know.” He answered simply, trying not to smirk when Dream’s face fell and bracing himself for what he was about to say, “But we can try.” 

George had never considered himself good at acting, or theatre. When battles upon battles had occurred, and leaders had given speeches and villain's monologues, he always cringed. He wasn’t one for dramatizing events or pretending for the sake of others. But a deep part of him, buried under layers of apathy and carelessness, enjoyed the power of making Dream believe his lie, for once. 

The desire to fight back, to find a way out, once again ignited in his chest, washing out the apathy and self-pity. 

Dream sat by him, holding out the apple. George didn’t want it, but he knew he had to take it. It was Dream’s metaphorical olive branch. 

“I am sorry.” Dream spoke, disrupting the silence, “I don’t like hurting you.” 

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he turned to Dream, meeting his gaze. The air was thick with tension, one wrong move and the entire foundation of ‘forgiveness’ would shatter. Dream may be trying to gain his trust, but George knew he couldn’t control his temper forever. He had to walk on eggshells. 

“I know,” George replied, taking a bite of the apple. The juice of the fruit coated his mouth, the taste that he once enjoyed settling unpleasantly on his tongue. There was nothing wrong with the apple, but the way Dream lit up, excited by the prospect of a new friendship,  _ of power _ , made George’s stomach churn. 

Still, he took another bite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a shorter/calmer chapter this time :)  
> Enjoy it while it lasts 
> 
> You know the drill! Here's your reminder to go get some food, water, and stretch. 
> 
> I made a twitter! @saquashing  
> I rarely use it/go on it, but maybe that will change haha


	4. Contemplation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo finalizes his agreement with Schlatt.
> 
> Wilbur sees George. 
> 
> George falls ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi hello

Walking to the castle, Tubbo’s heart raced. Bees buzzed by his head, weaving around him before gliding back to the colorful flowers that lined the path. 

It was a nice day outside, despite the unpleasant circumstances. The sun shone down on him, warming his pale skin. If it was any other day, he would go for a walk, or even a picnic maybe. But today wasn't any other day. 

The large shadow of the castle cast down on him, cooling his skin so drastically he couldn't help but shiver. The imposing towers stared him down, and for a brief second, he reconsidered going forward. 

He walked carefully towards the castle with a deep breath, reminding himself of why he was doing this. Why this was important. A good leader compromises, he knew that.

The guards stepped away, letting him through the castle doors, and guiding him inside. The sound of his shoes on the stone echoed through the halls, mimicking his rapidly beating heart. 

As he got closer he heard the faintest of voices, growing with each step he took. He quickly identified Schlatt as one of them but didn’t recognize the rest. 

“-This shipment will bring us more money than you could dream of, your highness.” 

Tubbo could hear Schlatt’s hum of approval from outside the chambers, and his eyebrows furrowed. Shipment?

“Good, good. Are you certain  _ everything _ is taken care of?” Schlatt responded, making his curiosity double. What was Schlatt up to? 

He quickly shook his head, focusing back on the matters at hand. Schlatt and the Dream SMP wasn't his problem, he just needed to take care of L’Manburg. 

Knocking on the door, all conversations stopped. It didn't take long for Schlatt to open it, guiding him inside and ushering the others out. 

“Tubbo!” Schlatt greeted, as cheerful as ever. He sat at his desk, the large chair overlooking the entire room. 

Tubbo swallowed roughly as he sat in the opposite chair, feeling even meeker than before. Schlatt was eyeing him, like a lion stalking its prey. He fought the urge to run back out the door, and back home, where he was safe.

“What can I do for you, Mr. President.” 

He caught the mocking tone used by the king, but he brushed it off, digging under his wrinkled suit jacket for what he was looking for. Once he found it, a folded piece of paper, he tossed it on the desk, waiting for Schlatt to pick it up.

“What is this?” Schlatt asked, carefully unfolding the beige paper. 

Tubbo sat up straight, resting his hands on his thighs, “A contract.” At Schlatt’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “The deal between us may not be public, but I'm not about to let you pull L’Manburg into something we don't belong in.” 

Schlatt whistled, reading over the contract in hand with an eagle eye, “What makes you think I would sign this? I made it perfectly clear what would happen if you said no.” 

“You're a good leader, Schlatt.” Tubbo explained, folding his hands on his lap and forcing himself to make eye contact with the ruler, “You know just as good as I do that war isn't good for either of our nations. You want to become the richest nation in the region, do you think a series of long battles will do that?” 

Nodding, Schlatt placed the piece of paper back on the desk, before leaning back in his chair, “You're a smart kid Tubbo.” 

“I know.” He replied simply, keeping his voice as steady as possible. But the truth was, the idea of being on equal footing as Schlatt, despite the circumstances, made him want to start jumping up and down in glee. He was no longer someone he could control, he wasn’t a victim.

He cleared his throat, willing himself to keep a straight face, “First of all, L’Manburg wants protection, in the case that there is ever a war or a nation threatening us, the SMP has to support us.”

Schlatt huffed out a laugh, staring down at the paper with contempt.

“Second of all, the SMP and L’Manburg will be at peace with one another. No wars, no expanding in each other's territories, nothing.” 

Tubbo took a deep breath before finishing, waiting for Schlatt to look him in the eye, “And finally, if Dream is  _ ever  _ found, the SMP has to hand him over to L’Manburg for trial.” 

“This is a whole lot for just some resources,” Schlatt replied, kicking his feet up onto the desk. 

“How much does collecting those  _ resources  _ mean to you, Schlatt? Gold, diamonds, a percentage of whatever we get.” Tubbo argued, swallowing down the bile that raised in his throat, “How much do  _ you _ want to become rich?” 

Schlatt stood up, slowly walking around the desk to look at Tubbo directly. The close contact made Tubbo feel faint, the blood draining from his face.

After a moment of tense silence, Schlatt extended his hand. This time Tubbo didn't bother containing his grin, and he extended his own, grasping and shaking.

“Deal.” 

* * *

Wilbur smiled, feeling the gentle, warm breeze blow past him, knocking his curly hair in front of his face. He didn't need to move it, however, because a small hand reached up and pushed it out of the way. 

His smile widened, looking down at the owner of the hand, holding his arms around and wrapping around him. 

“We should probably go, yeah?” The voice spoke, comforting, familiar, kind. It was like taking a warm bath after a day in the snow, or coming home after days of mining. It was  _ good. _

Wilbur nodded, releasing the hold and grabbing the man’s hand, holding it as tight as possible, afraid that if he let go even slightly it would disappear from his grasp.

“Yeah, my dad will never let us live it down if we're late to dinner,” He responded, rubbing circles into the back of the hand, “Especially if Techno beats us.” 

“Are we sure Techno’s even coming?” The voice laughed, looking up at Wilbur with a bright smile and soft eyes, “He's not the biggest fan of family dinners.” 

Tilting his head, Wilbur chuckled, guiding the man through L’Manburg, “He’s a fan of free food, though, there's no way he doesn't show.” 

The giggle that graced his ears nearly made him melt, and Wilbur pledged he'd always try to keep them coming. He wanted, no, needed, to keep him happy, safe. 

“It's too bad you didn't show.” The voice spoke, suddenly somber, making Wilbur frown. 

All of a sudden, the bright sun dimmed, grey clouds rolling in and blocking the light. Wilbur focused on the man next to him, not having recognized who it actually was at first, when he did, he cried out. 

“Wait- George?” His voice broke, thick, and his head pounding, the smell of ashes filled his senses, clouding his lungs and filling his throat with soot. 

Looking around, he noticed he wasn't in L’Manburg anymore, instead, in the button room, the stone walls constricting his lungs and throat more than the ash. George stood next to him, tears running down his face and covered in soot, he looked afraid. 

“I waited for you,” George sobbed, pulling his hand away from Wilbur, recoiling like his touch burned him, and holding his hand to his chest, “I waited for you to come to find me but you never came!” 

“George, I- I’m so sorry, I’m looking, I promise!” 

He took a step forward, before a shot of pain erupted from his side, sending him careening to the ground. Raising a hand to his soaked shirt, he realized he was bleeding. He was stabbed. 

His father stepped from behind him, dropping the sword on the ground and walking towards George.

“It's too late to apologize, not after what you've done.” 

Wilbur shot up in his bed with a gasp, his clothes damp from sweat and his heart racing. He gasped in breath after breath, no amount satiating his constricted lungs. 

He took in his surroundings, his bed, his room, his guitar. But there was no George. 

As horrific as the nightmare was, he closed his eyes and fell back on the bed, begging sleep to come and take him again. He didn't care how bad the dream was, he just wanted to see George. 

His eyes shot open when a knock came from his door. 

“Wilbur?” Tommy asked, carefully stepping through the doorway and into the room, scanning Wilbur, who twisted on the bed to look at the teen, “Are you alright?” 

Wilbur bit his quivering lip, but nodded, “I’m fine.” 

Tommy walked to the bed, sitting on the far end and biting his lip. His foot tapped against the ground, clearly antsy to talk about something. 

“What is it, Toms?” Wilbur asked, moving in the bed so Tommy had more room to sit. 

“Tubbo mentioned something, and I- I can't stop thinking about it,” Tommy started, when Wilbur raised his eyebrow he continued, “Were you- Are you, are you and George in love?” 

Wilbur went quiet, leaning back against the headboard. 

“If that's true, that's fine, yanno?” Tommy rambled, his foot picking up speed, “Or- this was stupid, of course not.”

He started to stand up, but stopped when Wilbur inhaled sharply.

“I love him, yes.” He answered simply, before maneuvering to pull out the letter from beneath his pillow. He handed Tommy the worn paper, stained with tears and smudged by Wilbur’s fingers, “He loves me too, although that was then.” 

“What could have changed?” Tommy asked, skimming over the note, his eyes softening the longer he read. 

“I haven't found him. I haven't saved him. I've let him down.” 

Tommy shook his head, sniffling as he handed Wilbur the note back, “No. You haven't let him down, you've been trying as hard as you can, we all can see it.” 

Wilbur scoffed, folding the note with delicate, practiced motions, and placed it back under the pillow, “I was supposed to keep him safe, Toms.” His voice broke, his last remaining fragments of composure shattering. 

Tommy crawled to his side, leaning his head onto his shoulder. His long, blonde hair tickled Wilbur’s neck, but he didn't bother mentioning it. 

“He’s keeping us safe.” Tommy said, “We’ll figure out what to do, Wilby.” 

Wilbur wiped his eyes, chuckling at the dumb nickname, “Wilby?” 

Ignoring him completely, Tommy continued, attempting to lighten the mood, “Besides, I can't pass up the chance to have  _ Gogy  _ as my brother in law.” 

Wilbur laughed, shoving him off of him. 

“I'm just saying!” 

* * *

George groaned, wiping a pale arm over his sweat-covered forehead, before lurching forward and throwing up. He cried out, falling onto the ground in exhaustion. His muscles were sore, his body hot, and nothing he ate stayed down. He was exhausted. 

“Hey, hey, I got you, don't worry,” Dream's voice shot through the room before he knelt down by his side, pulling his head onto his lap. A palm rested against his forehead, and Dream frowned, “Your fever is still pretty bad, here drink this.” He said, pressing a glass of cold water against his chapped lips. 

George shook his head, more tears spilling from his eyes, “N-no, I'll just throw it up,” He said, barely audible.

“You need to stay hydrated,” Dream reminded, rubbing a gentle hand through his hair, “It'll help.” 

Caving, George parted his lips, allowing the cool liquid to slide over his tongue and down his throat. He did have to admit, the colder temperature helped a lot, no matter how temporary it would last. 

The remaining logical part of his head screamed at him for letting Dream take care of him like this, but he was  _ so tired _ . It had been almost 24 hours of constant nausea, vomiting, and feverish sleep.

He didn't know why Dream wasn't sick, it had to have been a nasty cold, but the man was perfectly fine. It was strange, almost like he was immune. 

But trying to figure out what that meant made his head spin, and he didn't have the heart to deal with it right then. 

The room around him faded and his eyes slipped shut, letting Dream’s gentle hand on his head and the cooes falling from his lips lull him to a fitful sleep. 

He woke up hours later, alone in his room, wrapped in blankets. Dream was nowhere to be found, probably asleep in his own bed as George realized it was soft moonlight that flowed through the curtains rather than warm sunshine of earlier. 

He blinked the sleep from his eyes and cleared his throat, he felt a lot better from the rest, but when he moved his head to the side too quickly, he was reminded of his previous nausea, having to take a couple deep breaths to keep himself from throwing up yet again.

A glass of water sat on the nightstand next to him, and he had to admit, it was nice of Dream to think ahead and put it there for him. 

No, not nice, he reprimanded himself, Dream’s just manipulating him, like he always does. 

He sat up on the bed slowly, a shaky hand reaching out to open the curtains further and allow the moonlight onto his skin. 

It instantly soothed him, just like it always did, and he let himself relax. He watched out the window, the mobs roaming the nearby forest, the breeze blowing through the leaves of the trees. Despite everything, it was peaceful. 

The moon was full now, staring down at him through the window. The craters on the surface reminded George of a face. He felt like he was having a conversation with it, the cosmic body reminding him to stay strong. 

He smiled as he remembered the meaning, it filling him with a newfound sense of power. It was about celebrating your growth, how far you’ve come, and completion. George took a deep breath, tears filling the corner of his eyes as his stomach churned yet again. 

But he knew if he had to make all of the choices that led him here, again. He would. He wouldn’t change a thing. Because his loved ones were safe, and George was powerful. He would find a way out of this while still getting rid of Dream, if it was the last thing he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would it even be a sequel if there wasn't a nightmare scene? lol 
> 
> sorry about the less frequent updates and shorter chapters, focusing on other projects at the moment. i am still working on it though, and the plot is only gonna get more interesting from here ;) 
> 
> check out my tumblr @slushiesforcar


	5. Coming clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karl and Sapnap have varying opinions on what to do next. 
> 
> Phil and Wilbur bond. 
> 
> George finds something that changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> irregular updates go brr

“It's a bad idea,” Karl argued, crossing his arms over his chest and his lips sinking into a frown, “I don’t think you should do it, no one ever gets anything good out of looking for their birth parents.” 

Sapnap rolled his eyes, matching his boyfriend's guarded body language and crossing his own arms over his chest, “I’m not looking to reconnect with them, obviously” he ranted, “but they’re my only chance at getting help at controlling this, this fucking curse!” 

The two had been arguing for close to an hour now, both too stubborn to cave. But Sapnap knew this is what he had to do, not just for him, but to keep everyone else safe. He was going to find his parents, no matter what.

“This is the best chance we have, if I can get control over the fire, I could take Dream down.”  _ And save George.  _ He felt a familiar pounding growing up the base of his neck and onto the back of his head. He took a couple of deep breaths, willing himself to stay calm. When he saw Karl’s irritated expression melt into softness, he continued, lowering his voice, “I need to do something, I need to  _ try  _ at least.”   


Karl lowered his arms, before stepping forward and holding them open for a hug, “I know you want to find George, and I know you want to get control, but I worry about how much of yourself you're giving away in order to do so. It hurts me to see you basically kill yourself trying to handle all of this on your own.” 

Wrapping his arms around Karl, he pulled him close, his face nestled into his soft hair, “I love you for looking out for me, but I can handle it. I can handle this.” 

“I believe you, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

Karl was tearing up at this point, and Sapnap’s eyes softened, rubbing his back. He knew how concerned Karl was, it was just the nature of who he was as a person. Karl always wanted to be there for others and fix all of their problems, but after Schlatt, after the basement, he was nervous. He rarely left Sapnap’s side, always making sure he was okay and taken care of, even opting to trek through the woods while still healing rather than staying in bed. 

Sapnap sighed, leaning his head against Karl’s shoulder, “I have to do this.”

“I know,” Karl whispered, “but I'm coming with you.” 

Sapnap pulled away from Karl, eyeing him with concern and shaking his head, “You’ve already done so much for me, I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” Karl smiled, grabbing hold of Sapnap’s hand and leading him towards their home, “Did you really think I would let you go by yourself?” 

Sapnap shrugged, chuckling when Karl mumbled, ‘chucklehead’, under his breath. 

“Do you remember where the orphanage was?” Karl asked, rubbing circles into the back of his hand. Sapnap cringed internally, just thinking about the dreaded orphanage made his heart rate spike. Karl continued, bringing him back to their conversation, “I think our best bet is going there first, asking around for information.” 

Sapnap nodded, chewing the inside of his cheeks. Flashes of all of the time he spent in that hell-hole circled his mind, his stomach twisting. He remembered being locked in dark closets, sobbing and begging to be let out, and other times where the caretakers would call him a mistake and decided he needed to skip dinner to learn a lesson. He never figured out what the lesson was. 

If he was already feeling dread just thinking about the orphanage, how was he supposed to go there? See it in person for the first time in a decade? 

He thought about Dream, the day he rescued him. He climbed in through his window, noticing the locked door and his tear-stained cheeks, offering him a life of adventure and safety. Now he was the reason he was afraid. Oh, how the times change. 

“It’s south-west from here,” Sapnap eventually spoke, recalling the direction the Dream Team came from, and where the city they were that they used to reside, “Do you think there’ll still be a reward for my arrest?” He half-joked, thinking about how quickly they had to get out of town. 

Karl laughed, the sound soothing his anxiety like aloe on a burn, “What did you do to get a bounty put on your head? You were what, 10?”

“Let’s just say that the guards didn’t enjoy pranks being pulled on them,” Sapnap replied simply, recalling all the times he had to distract guards long enough that Dream could sneak in a skunk to their quarters or steal something they wanted from the little shop on the corner. When George joined their group, playing the ‘sad, neglected kid’ it had almost been too easy. 

They continued into their house, separating to grab everything they needed before heading out.”

* * *

Wilbur stared at the maps strown about his desk with contempt, looking for anything he might have missed the first 100 times he scanned them. He couldn’t get past the feeling that George was closer than he seemed, and that after just  _ one more hill  _ they would find him, and everything would be okay. That’s all he needed, for George to be okay. 

A large portion of the maps was marked, showing how they had been searched, though he wondered if he should check them again. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sapnap and Karl, they were just as eager to find George as he was, but he had an overwhelming urge to look himself and make sure no stone was left unturned. 

His eyes burned as he glared at the worn pieces of paper, the lines blurring and mashing together. He wondered how long he had been there, staying in that spot, making no progress. 

A knock at his door ripped him from his self-loathing, he blinked rapidly, trying to soothe his burning retinas, “Come in!” He called, biting his lip and leaning back in the chair. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he desperately needed a distraction from the maps, which laid there, taunting him. 

“Hey, can we talk?” Phil asked, peeking his head through the door like he was afraid to come in all the way. Wilbur had to bite back his laugh at the thought, the once feared ‘angel of death’, afraid to come into his own son's bedroom. 

Still, Wilbur nodded, motioning to the other chair that sat next to the desk. He watched scrutinizingly as Phil took a cautious step towards the chair, eventually sitting and scanning the maps with growing curiosity. 

“Looking for a new route?” He asked Wilbur, swallowing thickly. 

Wilbur huffed, rolling his eyes, “If you came here to tell me to give up the search, you can leave. I don’t want to hear it.” 

He almost felt guilty when Phil visibly recoiled, but a large, spiteful part of him felt proud. Proud that he could get even, as petty as it was. He had heard nonstop complaints from his father since he got back, and as much as it hurt, it was easier to keep him at arm's length. Most of the time he didn’t even think of the snarky remarks, they just came out. Keeping his walls up, and his dad out.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Phil said, fingers tapping the worn surface of the desk, making Wilbur’s irritation spike. He glared down at the offending hands, Phil noticing and moving them to his lap. 

“Then why are you here?” 

Phil took a deep breath, before laying his elbows against the desk and setting his head in his hands, “Wilbur, please-” He said softly, “I can’t do this with you anymore.” 

Wilbur scoffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. His throat constricted, and his lungs felt heavy, but he forced himself to keep on his mask of apathy and carelessness, “What are you talking about?”

“This!” Phil snapped, making Wilbur flinch. The older man looked away from him, and Wilbur swore he could hear the faintest sound of sniffling. It made his stomach feel like acid. After a moment of silence, Phil faced him again, his eyes rimmed with red, “I can’t stand going about like nothing’s wrong,” He vented. Wilbur bit his tongue, waiting for him to continue. 

“I can’t stand you hating me.” 

Wilbur laughed bitterly, sitting up straight, “That’s rich considering you’re the one who’s been trying to get me to stop looking,” He sneered, standing up roughly from the chair, the wooden furniture almost tipping over as he did so. 

He walked to the window next to his bed, fighting back tears as he tried to ignore the storm brewing within him. 

“I know that’s not it-” Phil said, gathering his attention, “You flinch when I come near you, Wilbur,” He explained, his voice rising with each word, “I see you reach for your side when I come close.” 

“I don’t care that you stabbed me,” Wilbur whispered, throwing the pillow off of his bed and grabbing the note, “I don’t care that you don’t think I care about my family,” He threw the note down in front of Phil, before wiping a tear that had fallen, “I only care about finding him.”

He watched in silence as Phil read the note, his mouth falling open as he repeated the words. 

“Oh,” he replied, rubbing his forehead. 

“Yeah.”

Phil sighed, dropping the note onto the desk, “Wilbur, I had no idea.” He said earnestly, “I thought you were only going after him to spite Dream.”

“Well, you thought wrong.” 

Wilbur watched as his dad stood from the chair, staying still as he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him against his chest. Wilbur wanted to stay resilient and push him away, but the second his warm arms circled him his resolve melted away. 

The floodgates opened and he collapsed into his chest, hot tears streaming down his cheeks, “I-I, I don’t know what to do,” He cried, “I don’t know what to do.” 

“I know,” Phil comforted, rubbing circles into his back, “let’s sit back down, you can tell me all about him, and we’ll find somewhere new to search.”

“We?” Wilbur asked, his eyes wide and puffy and his chest heaving. 

Phil smiled, patting a hand on his back before guiding him back to the table. 

“We.” 

* * *

“Hey, Georgie, how’re you feeling?” Dream asked as he stepped out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. 

George only shrugged, far too tired to respond. He thought for sure he would be feeling better, but as he woke up for the second time, the nausea was back. He was so exhausted, so tired of feeling sick. He would do anything to get rid of the spinning. 

Dream offered him a warm smile, before placing a steaming mug of tea in front of him. It smelt good, floral almost. George reached out to pick it up, faltering when something caught his eye. On his forearm was a rash, red and angry. That was new, he thought. What kind of cold gives you rashes?

“George?” Dream asked, breaking him out of his trance, “You alright?” 

He nodded, offering Dream a small smile, before ignoring the rash and taking a sip of the tea. Dream seemed relieved he was drinking, smiling when he swallowed the liquid before heading to the door, sliding on his shoes. 

“I’m going hunting,” he explained, grabbing a coat and his sword that was stained with blood, “Finish your tea, get some rest.” And with that, he left. 

George sipped at the tea, but when his nausea returned he gave up, dumping it down the sink. He looked into the bedroom, but as tired as he was, he didn’t want to go back to sleep. 

The wind blew loudly around the house, indicating a storm to come. George walked towards the door, slipping on his own shoes and jacket, wanting to get as much fresh air as he could before the rain started and he was stuck indoors. 

The sky was gray, illuminating the area around his house with soft, dull lighting. He sat down on the front porch, grabbing his jacket tightly and pulling it around him as another gust of wind blew by, making him shiver. 

He took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air against his skin and in his lungs when something caught his eye. A small, orange ball of fur was sitting at the base of the woods, staring at him. 

He slowly pushed himself off of the steps, smiling at the animal, “Come ‘ere, kitty,” He called, carefully walking forward, “What’s your name?” He asked, a soft smile tugging his lips. 

The cat seemingly waited till he was only a few feet away, before walking into the woods, its head tilting back to make sure George was following, almost like it was leading him somewhere. 

He kept following the animal, having to stop occasionally to catch his breath or wait for his stomach to settle, but the cat always stopped and waited for him before continuing. 

“Where are you taking me?” George asked quietly, after a minute, his heart dropping when he realized how far he had walked from the house, if Dream found out how far he had gone he would kill him. He stopped temporarily, biting his lips as he contemplated his next moves.

He looked behind him, tears pricking at his eyes. He should go back. Dream was finally being nice, and what did he do? Leave. He was going to be so mad. This wasn’t even his attempt at escaping, he didn’t know where he was going. It could ruin all other chances he would have.

A soft meow broke him from his thoughts, and he looked down at the cat, who was rubbing against his legs. He swallowed roughly, before taking another step, “I hope you know where we’re going, kitty.” He said, “I’m trusting you.”

The cat meowed again, before running back ahead of him. 

Another long minute of walking through the woods and the cat stopped. He rested in a small, almost hidden field of flowers. George’s stomach dropped, he was risking Dream’s fury by escaping, and for what? Flowers?

He fell to his knees, grasping a flower beneath his fingertips, a lily of the valley. Tears pooled behind his eyelids, and his head fell. He didn’t know he had expectations until he was let down. He wiped his eyes, cursing himself for being so dumb. There was no secret hidden portal that would bring him to Wilbur, there was no secret stash of weapons. Just a fucking path of lily of the valleys. 

“Why?” He asked, facing the animal, his voice broken and his hands shaky, “Why would you bring me here?” 

The cat’s head tilted, staring up at him inquisitively, before laying in the flowers. That’s when George realized, the stems were almost perfectly spaced. They didn’t grow there by themselves. 

He cried out, dropping the flower as he put two and two together. He had read a book on herbology, back at the bookstore when he was a child. He knew which flowers to avoid eating, and Lily of the Valleys was one of them. Consumption of which led to nausea, dizziness, rashes, and sometimes even death. 

Dream wouldn’t dare, right? He wouldn’t poison him. 

His breath was taken from him as he realized, that’s exactly what he would do. What better way to keep him docile, keep him reliant on him. His stomach churned, thinking of the glasses of water, the mugs of tea, all of which had to be dosed with the flower’s toxins. 

The worst part was, he never had a clue. He knew better, yet still, he fell into the same cycle as before, relying on him, trusting him. 

“George?!” He heard the man call, and his stomach dropped. Speak of the devil, and he appears. George bit his lip, shutting his eyes. Dream noticed he was gone, it was only a matter of time now before he found him, and hurt him for leaving. He plucked a flower, shoving it into his pocket, just before he heard a branch snap behind him. 

He turned around, trying to keep his expression as steady as possible. His heart was racing, staring up at the man in the mask, but he knew he couldn’t break. 

“What are you doing here, Georgie?” Dream asked, the overly-sweet tone of his voice sending shivers through George’s spine. 

He forced a smile onto his lips, standing from his spot on the ground, wiping the dirt off his knees, “I saw a cat, and it led me here. Look at the flowers, aren’t they pretty, Dream?” 

They stood in a standoff for a long, uncomfortable minute, both waiting for the other to crack. Finally, Dream stepped forward, wrapping his arms around George. His nose curled at the smell of blood, and he wondered what innocent animal he had killed before he had found him. 

The contact made him feel even more nauseous than the poison. 

“They are,” Dream finally replied, “But don’t ever do that again,” George shut his eyes, and his throat felt thick. As caring as Dream tried to sound, he knew what it was, a threat, “I thought you tried to run, I don’t know what I would do without you, Georgie. Who knows what I would have to do to get you back.” 

The unspoken threat on Wilbur hung in the air, breaking a large part of George’s resolve. 

“I’m not going to leave,” he whispered, forcing his own arms to encase Dream, “I promise.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me looking at the people in the comments who guessed he was being poisoned like 👀


	6. breakthroughs and setbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap and Karl find out some new information.
> 
> Techno's return gives Wilbur the tip he needed.
> 
> Tubbo meets someone new.
> 
> George bakes a cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, editing this for like 3 hours and still half-assing it? more likely than you think
> 
> tw// homophobia

Hours had passed since Sapnap and Karl set out to find the orphanage, Sapnap silently leading them towards the city he used to reside. He still couldn’t believe he was going back, and willingly at that. When he had left that city, Dream, and George by his side, he swore he would never return, that he would make the most of his new life. 

He swallowed the misplaced envy down from his throat, shaking it away. He had no right to feel jealous like Dream didn’t invite him. It wasn't like they were on some trip, leaving him out. George was probably miserable, being hurt in who knows what way by their unstable friend. Ex-friend, he reminded himself. 

Ignoring the guilt that flared in his chest, he looked back to Karl. He too seemed lost in thought, eyes far away as he moved on autopilot, eyebrows twitching and jaw clenching. Sapnap wanted to kiss all of his worries away, bring him somewhere safe, where they would never have to worry again. After they found where Dream was keeping George, and made sure he was okay, he was going to take Karl far away, on a vacation. Somewhere warm and sunny.

Beads of sweat pooled on the back of Sapnap’s neck, sticking to the collar of his thin shirt, serving as an ever-constant reminder of his discomfort. He chewed on his chapped lips, biting the skin and only stopping when he tasted blood. 

As they approached, Sapnap let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The city was nothing like it used to be, the streets that used to be swarming with life and packed with colorful markets were nearly empty, worn down, and covered in a thick layer of dust. Even the higher-class areas, he noted, were boarded up, void of all signs of life. 

The empty streets were eerily quiet. The quiet squeaks of rodents and gentle wind the only sounds, besides their heavy breathing. In all of Sapnap’s many daydreams about what the city had become, never did he think it would become a ghost town. 

Bitterness settled in his stomach like acid. He couldn’t help but wonder why the city waited for him to leave to die out, why it couldn’t have let them go so much sooner.

“It’s just down a side street,” Sapnap explained half-heartedly, eyeing the old buildings with contempt. An old window shutter slammed against a wall, making the two jump. 

Breathing heavily, Karl took Sapnap’s hand in his own, “It’s just the wind,” he said. Although Sapnap caught his uncertainty, he didn’t say anything. 

He stroked the back of Karl’s hand, meeting his eyes, “so, what do you think?” he joked, smiling when Karl laughed, soothing his turmoil like a healing potion and effectively lightening the mood.

“Honestly,” Karl said, “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.” 

Sapnap nodded slightly, eyes catching on something moving down the street, “is that a person?” He asked, motioning to what appeared to be an old man, knitting in an old rocking chair. 

“Looks like someone didn’t get the memo to leave town,” Karl replied, tugging his hand closer as they walked down the road, “Do you think he’s going to kill us?” He asked, eyes widening as he grasped Sapnap’s arm. 

He frowned, eyebrows squinting as he looked back at Karl, “Why the hell would he kill us?” 

Karl only shrugged. Sapnap pulled him closer, his hand resting on the small of his back. He hated how Karl felt the need to be prepared that someone might murder them. He still felt guilty for what happened in his basement, and probably always would. 

It was his fault that Schlatt was able to get to him, alone, and it was his fault that he was even involved in the first place. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to him and keeping him safe. 

It didn’t take long to get to the old man, but as they got closer and closer, Sapnap got wary. Scars littered his face, the most noticeable striking directly through his left eye. He looked frail, but still imposing, like he could be hiding a knife under his half-constructed blanket. 

“Um, hi, excuse me,” Karl greeted, flashing his bright smile, ready to use his charm to get the old man to talk, “me and my boyfriend here were just wondering if we could ask you a couple of questions?” 

The old man didn’t say anything, he didn’t even acknowledge he heard him except for the smallest curl of his nose at the word ‘boyfriend.’ 

Sapnap frowned, stepping in between him and Karl without thinking, “Listen, man, we just wanted to know what happened to this place...” 

The old man scoffed, sitting up straight and his needles moving with more force, “You want to know what happened to this place?” he spoke, his voice gravelly and rough. Sapnap wondered when the last time he spoke to anyone besides the mice was, “The Dream SMP happened, L’Manburg happened,” He scoffed. Both Karl and Sapnap froze at the mention of their cities, sharing a concerned glance, before looking back at the man, “The promise of ‘bigger’ and ‘better’, is what happened.”

Sapnap’s stomach dropped, he had no idea that the Dream SMP had power outside of its lands, let alone enough to vacate an entire city. 

He bit his lip as he thought about all of the people losing their jobs and their homes, all because of Dream's grand idea’. But he couldn’t help the small part of him that felt like it was simply karma. The people who lost their jobs were the same who saw the bruises on his cheeks and turned a blind eye, why should they be spared?

“Schlatt tried his best to save it,” The old man continued, shaking his head as he continued knitting. Sapnap noticed Karl suck in a harsh breath at the mention of the new king, and rubbed his back, not missing the glare from the old man as he did so. He had no idea that Schlatt was ever a ruler before the SMP. 

“What happened?” He asked, egging the old man to continue. 

“He too was overtaken by greed... He ran what was left of this place into the ground,” He replied sharply, before snapping his head towards the two travelers, “Now leave, I may be the only one left but I still know you’re kind is not welcome here.” 

It took a second to realize what he meant until Sapnap noticed what he was staring at. Karl’s hand in his own. 

He scoffed, feeling the rush of fire threaten him, burning him stronger and faster than ever before. Karl pulled him away suddenly, grabbing his cheeks and looking deep into his eyes, forcing him to take a deep breath. 

“Sap?” he asked, rubbing his arms, grounding him, “Hey, Sap, it’s okay, just breathe.” 

Sapnap swallowed down the flames, before moving back to the old man, throwing his blanket onto the ground, the needles clattering on the worn pavement, “Fuck you,” He hissed, his voice dripping with venom, “No wonder you’re here alone.” 

“Sapnap,” Karl interrupted, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back, “Let’s just find the orphanage so we can leave this place.” 

He nodded, taking a second to catch his breath, willing his vision to stop spinning, “Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered, leading him back in the direction where they needed to go, “Let’s get out of here.” 

The remaining walk to the orphanage was silent, neither in the mood to talk about what just happened. Still, Sapnap was proud of himself. He didn’t explode; he didn’t light the vile old man up in flames, he got control. It filled him with hope. 

That same hope died as soon as he saw the old gray building, imposingly staring down at him. It looked like it was one bad storm away from falling over, the bricks crumbling and a series of large green vines climbing up one side. 

“Are you sure about this?” Karl asked, rubbing circles into his back as they stared at the building, “There’s no harm in turning back.” 

Sapnap sighed, his heart racing as floods of memories washed over him, drowning him. The last thing he wanted in the world was to go inside of that building, see what came of the place that hurt him time and time again, but he had to. 

Taking a shaky breath, he grabbed Karl’s hand and went inside. 

It was exactly how he remembered it, but at the same time not at all. The once tall and imposing hallways did not loom over him near as much as they used to. The old walls were covered in dirt and the wallpaper was cracking, peeling onto the floor. He felt bitter once again, wondering why it took so long for this hell-hole to be emptied. No one should have ever let kids stay there. 

He walked down the halls without thinking, fingertips padding against the grimy walls. Faint light peered through the boarded windows, illuminating the building just enough to see. 

Karl didn’t say anything, letting him take the time he needed while he searched for his own leads. 

His feet took him straight to his old room, the muscle memory apparently still ingrained deep inside of him. It felt different than he was expecting. The pain was there, and it hurt, but it wasn’t overwhelming. 

Seeing the emptied rooms and hallways proved that he became something more than the orphanage. He helped start the city that destroyed the city. He wasn’t an accident, or worthless like they had said. He lasted, longer than the orphanage, longer than the city. It was freeing. 

The door of his old room creaked as he pushed it open. It was exactly as it was before, save for years of accumulated dust and spider webs. The floorboards groaned as he stepped forward, but it fell on deaf ears. The only thing he could focus on was the window. 

The window that Dream had crawled through, the one that promised him freedom. When he crawled through that small window, he swore he would never return. Now, look at him, in the exact same place, in that room, without Dream. 

He wasn’t in the exact same place, he realized. He had Karl, he had friends, hell he even considered Philza and his annoying-ass family his friends, as weird as that was. Things were changing, they were different, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. 

“Hey,” Karl said softly, bringing his attention from the window back to him, “I found something you might want to see,” he said, holding pieces of tattered beige paper. 

Sapnap went back towards him, eyes furrowing as he noticed Karl’s solemn expression, “What is it?” He asked, anxiety pooling in his stomach as his boyfriend handed him the papers, staying silent and biting his lips. 

The papers were generic, at first, talking about his age, his disciplinary record, and a bunch of other boring stuff he didn’t really care about. That was until he noticed the little bar on the bottom of one of the papers. 

**Parental/Guardian status: Alive**

**Circumstance for coming to the orphanage: Parents did not sign away their rights, (forceful rehoming), see pg. 3**

**Notes: Nick’s parents could potentially come looking for him, needs a name change.**

The breath left Sapnap’s lungs as he realized what that meant. His parents wanted him, they didn’t willingly give him up like he assumed all these years. They were out there, they could be looking for him. 

Tears sprung to his eyes, and this time, he didn’t bother fighting them. He covered his mouth, swallowing thickly as he handed back the pile of papers to Karl. He didn’t need to see the rest. 

“There’s an address, Sap,” Karl whispered, his eyes wide. When Sapnap didn’t answer, he set down the papers and wrapped his arms around him, nestling his head in the crook of his neck. 

Sapnap’s breath shuddered, his hands shaky, wrapping around his chest as the tears finally broke through, streaming down his cheeks and seeping through Karl’s shirt, “They wanted me,” He whimpered, his knees seconds away from giving out. 

Somehow this hurt even worse than them willingly giving him up. That way he could accept there was nothing he could do. But this, this hurt. He missed out on a lifetime of happiness, of having a loving family, all because of what? 

That was going to be the first question he asked when they found them. 

* * *

Wilbur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his dad walked back into his room, holding two steaming mugs of chamomile tea. They had been scanning over maps for hours, looking for a new route, or for anything they missed. 

Eventually, they had taken a break, but when Techno returned to town with news of a sighting of a ‘masked man’ on an island, they sprung back into action. It wasn't much to go on, but it was something. As soon as the pink-haired man came to Wilbur, with a pat on the back and news of the sighting, Wilbur was filled with new-found hope and determination. 

But hours of staring at the same old maps was enough to kill any hope, no matter how strong. Groaning, Wilbur’s head fell into his hands. His back and neck screamed at the constant peering at the table, but he ignored it. He had far more important things to think about. 

“Even if the sighting was true,” Wilbur asked, looking up at his dad with red-rimmed eyes and a craned neck, “What are the odds it was recent? Techno has been traveling for months.”

Phil sighed, sipping his tea and taking a moment to gather his thoughts before answering, “It’s the only real lead we’ve had yet,” he reminded, setting the mug on the table, “It can’t hurt to check it out.”

Wilbur closed his eyes, leaning against the table. He was so tired, the overwhelming hold of sleep was looming over him, constantly threatening to take him. He shook the fogginess away, forcing his eyes open and sitting up straight, taking a sip of his tea. 

“Why don’t you take a nap, Will?” Phil asked, offering him a comforting smile, “You’re no help to me half asleep, I’ll wake you if I find any islands either of us have missed.”

He wanted to fight it, he really did, but when his eyes threatened to close on their own volition, he caved and stood up, heading to his bed. His dad was right, he needed a fresh mind if he was to find George. 

Sleep took him almost as soon as he hit the bed, welcoming him in its warm embrace. 

Almost as soon as he fell asleep, he was woken up, Phil shaking his shoulders with wide eyes, seemingly out of breath. 

“Wilbur, I found the islands,” He said quickly, pulling him from the bed. Wilbur had to take a second to process what he said, the fogginess of his slumber leaving as adrenaline took its place. 

“Let’s go,” He gasped, clambering out of the bed and heading to the table, grabbing the maps and roughly folding them. Phil didn’t need to be told twice, leaving the room in what Wilbur assumed was to grab supplies. 

It didn’t take them long to grab what they needed. Wilbur was sure they forgot something, but they were in a rush and could worry about it later.

“Techno, I’m serious,” Phil said, throwing Wilbur a jacket as they left the room, Tommy and Tubbo watching them with wide eyes, both excited by the new developments, “You watch them, keep them safe.” 

“I know, I know,” Techno replied carelessly, “I won’t lose the president or vice-president, Scout's honor.” 

Phil scoffed, smacking the back of Techno’s head, “You were never a scout,” He said, before turning to the two teenagers, “Please do not get into any wars while we’re out,” He said simply, bringing both into a hug. 

Afterward, Wilbur hugged them too. He was antsy and wanted to leave, but he made a promise to himself that he would be a better brother, and he intended to keep it. 

“No promises,” Tommy joked, holding onto Wilbur tightly, “I hope you find him.”   
  
Wilbur smiled at his brother, ruffling his blonde hair, “Me too.” 

“I have to go now,” Tubbo interrupted, before heading out the door. Both Wilbur and Tommy frowned, sharing a concerned glance. Tubbo’s lips had been pulled into a tight line, and his eyebrows were furrowed. Wilbur had rarely seen him that serious before, and it worried him. He looked deep into Tommy’s eyes, “Make sure he’s okay, yeah?”

Tommy nodded, frowning as he followed his friend out the door. 

Wilbur and Phil set off not long after that, heading towards the islands. 

* * *

“Tubbo!” Tommy called, making the president groan. He didn’t know how he was going to handle lying to his best friend, he felt like vomiting just from the week of keeping the secret of working with Schlatt. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got an ulcer from the stress. 

He kept walking, hoping that Tommy would leave him alone, though he knew realistically that wasn’t going to happen. 

“Tubbo!” Tommy yelled again, running up to his side and grabbing his shoulder. Tubbo cursed how tall his friend was, his long legs always gave him an unfair advantage, “Tubbo, what’s wrong?” 

He sighed, rolling his eyes before looking at the ground. There was no way he would be able to look Tommy in the eyes and lie. He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this.

“Nothing, Tommy,” He replied, chewing the inside of his cheeks. He could feel Tommy’s burning gaze on his skin, he didn’t need to meet his eyes to know he didn’t believe him.

“Why are you lying to me?” Tommy asked, though it sounded angry, Tubbo knew better, Tommy was upset. His stomach twisted, and he clenched his jaw. Tommy grabbed his shoulder, forcing his attention back on him, “I thought we were running this country together, as best friends. What aren’t you telling me?” 

“I said nothing!” Tubbo snapped, immediately regretting it when Tommy recoiled, backing away from him and raising his hands in instinct, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, but I swear it’s nothing.” 

Tommy’s lip quivered, making it hard for Tubbo to breathe. There was one person who had always been there for him, one person who he swore he would never betray, and that’s what he did. He swallowed the bile down from his throat. 

Tommy took another step back, eyes on the ground, “Okay,” He said, “I believe you.” 

“Tommy,” Tubbo called as his friend walked away, breathing deeply to stop himself from crying, but the blonde didn’t turn around. Tubbo’s heart sank deeper and deeper with each step he took.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder, making him jump.

“What the fuck?!” He gasped, hand clasped over his chest as he stared at the man, eyebrows furrowing as he didn’t recognize the person. Yet something about him seemed familiar. 

The man gave him a warm smile, and raised his hands in surrender, “Sorry, Mr. President, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Tubbo frowned, scanning over the man to make sure he didn’t have a knife or sword, when he didn’t he finally let himself relax. 

“Look man, I’m not in the mood to hear about proposals or anything right now,” He explained, stepping away from him, “I’ve had a shit day-”

“You’re going to want to hear what I have to say, Tubbo,” The man interrupted, grabbing his wrist. Tubbo’s heart raced, his instincts telling him to run, to get somewhere more public, or to find Tommy, but he quickly abandoned that thought. He was alone now, and he needed to be able to take care of himself. 

“Fine,” He said sharply, pulling his wrist from the man’s grasp and looking into his eyes, irritation flaring through his veins, “What do you want?” 

The man chuckled, “Schlatt did say you were feisty,” He replied, ripping the breath from Tubbo’s lungs, “I should introduce myself, where are my manors?” 

The man reached out his hand, making Tubbo flinch. His heart hammered in his chest, echoing through his ears, so loud he barely heard what he said next.

“Hi, I’m HBomb.” 

* * *

George sat at the kitchen table, dejectedly staring at Dream, who was setting a glass of water down in front of him. His eyes burned with fresh, unshed tears, but he kept a small smile on his lips. It was a game they were playing, cat and mouse. Who would break first?

He knew if he drank the water, he would most likely be ingesting more poison, but if he didn’t, Dream would know and would probably hurt him far worse than any toxin could. 

He picked up the glass with shaky hands and forced his lips open. His breath shuddered as the cool liquid slid past his lips and onto his tongue, down his throat, but he powered through, He took small swallows, just long enough until he saw Dream smiling, satisfied with his obedience. 

“I’m so grateful you didn’t get hurt, Georgie,” Dream vocalized, sitting next to him and grabbing his hands, rough hands enveloping smooth, “The woods can be so dangerous, don’t ever do that again.” 

“I’m sorry,” George repeated, his voice barely audible. He felt sick, but he didn’t know if it was poison or the physical contact, “I just wanted to see the cat,” He explained, closing his eyes and leaning against the back of the chair. Technically it wasn’t a lie, there was a cat. 

He felt a hand pad through his hair, but he didn’t flinch. He hated that the affection was actually soothing him, in a sickening way. He was so lonely. He couldn’t help but wish he had told Wilbur his feelings sooner, so they could have had time together, where they could have been like this, affectionate, maybe even living together. 

“What are you thinking about?” Dream asked softly. George noticed he was smiling, and he cursed himself for the stupidity. He opened his eyes, keeping the smile on his lips as he looked at Dream. 

“Those cakes I used to make,” he lied, praying that Dream wouldn’t notice, “Do you think you could get me the stuff for it? I want to try making it again.” 

Dream faltered for a moment, watching him for any signs of alternative motives, before nodding, pulling George to his side and wrapping an arm around him, “Of course I can, Georgie,” he said, his voice saccharine sweet, “I’m glad you’re picking up your old hobbies again.” 

George’s heart raced as he palmed the flower in his pocket, biting his lip and nuzzling his head into Dream’s chest. 

The one flower wouldn’t be enough to kill him, he knew. But it would weaken him, and it would give George the upper hand. Maybe, if he got sick enough, George could take his sword and stab him right through the heart, karma for what he did to Wilbur. 

He clenched his jaw as Dream wrapped a hand under his legs, picking him up and bringing him to his bedroom, “I think I’m going to sleep in here tonight,” Dream said, making George’s stomach twist, and his skin burn, “Just to make sure you’re safe.” _And to make sure you don’t run._

Still, he nodded, sliding off his coat when he was placed on the bed, making sure the flower wouldn’t fall out of the pocket. 

Was it worth the risk? Dream was finally being nice, if he tried his plan and failed, he would be killed on the spot. And after what happened in the woods, he knew he didn’t have a lot of leeway. 

The next morning came quickly. George stretched, surprised, yet grateful to find the bed empty. He slowly clambered off of the mattress, wincing as his bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. Soft, warm sunlight spilled through the window, and he had to admit, it was a nice morning. 

He picked up his coat, sighing in relief as the soft petals of the flower brushed against his fingertips. Walking out of the bedroom, George noticed the baking supplies left on the counter, along with a note. 

He skimmed over it, noting that Dream had gone searching for something, but would be back for dinner. Plenty of time to bake a cake. 

It had been a long time since he baked, but it did remind him of old times, bringing a small smile to his lips. He remembered baking lots of sweets, with Callahan and Alyssa, only to be screwed up when the rest of the group came in and stuck their fingers in the bowls. He didn’t realize how much he missed baking until then. 

He cracked the eggs into a bowl, stirring to make sure they combined with the sugar, before adding the milk and vanilla. He stared at the flower, that now laid on the counter, slightly crumpled from the travels. If he was going to add it, it had to be then. 

The hours passed quickly, and the next thing George knew, they were sitting at the table, empty dinner plates in front of them and the finished, iced cake resting on the counter. 

Dream stood up suddenly, tilting his head as he watched George, sitting up straight with his hands folded in his lap, “Time for dessert?” He asked, smiling when George nodded. 

George chewed his lip as he watched Dream slice the cake, putting the two slices onto plates and bringing them back to the table, “It looks incredible, Georgie,” He praised, “You’ve always been such a good baker.”

“I like it,” George admitted, smiling softly as Dream shoveled some of the cake into his mouth, chewing and swallowing without restraint, “It’s so exact, there’s not a lot of room to mess up.” 

Dream nodded, smiling as he took another bite, stray amounts of icing collecting on his lip, which he licked off, “I always mess it up, I don’t know how.”

George chuckled lowly, watching carefully as Dream ate, “It’s because you’re impatient, Dream, always have been.” 

“That’s fair,” Dream replied, before motioning towards George’s untouched slice of cake, “Why aren’t you eating any?” 

“My stomach’s still a little sensitive... from the cold,” He replied, noting how Dream faltered when he mentioned the sickness, “Actually,” George spoke, standing up, “I think I’m going to head to bed, goodnight Dream.” 

Dream reciprocated the message, and George went to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him before falling to his knees, his head in his hands. His heart was thundering in his chest, and he gasped his breaths, no amount of oxygen satiating him. He raised his trembling hand, biting it to contain his sobs. 

He slowly raised his eyes, another sob breaking through as he stared onto the nightstand. 

On top of the nightstand laid the flower, wilting but otherwise untouched. George rose to his feet, slowly making his way to the object and picking it up, smashing it between two fingers. 

This was a game, and he lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's more inconsistent, my updating schedule, my writing style, or my motivation? who knows
> 
> anyways, I have two more projects in the works for y'all
> 
> follow me on tumblr @slushiesforcar and twitter @saquashing ! 
> 
> as always, stay safe out there folks


	7. first meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> karl and sapnap meet his parents
> 
> tubbo makes a decision based off his conversation with hbomb
> 
> wilbur and phil meet a woman who has a lead on dream's whereabouts 
> 
> george deals with his conflicted feelings after leaving the flower out of the cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi long chapter here oops
> 
> god everything is coming together and i'm so excited

Karl didn’t know what he was expecting as they approached Sapnap’s parents house, for all they knew the couple moved away after Sapnap, or they would turn them away at the front door. 

He wanted to be back home, with Sapnap, curled on their couch. Or should he say _Nick,_ He thought bitterly, his nose curling as the name settled in his chest like acid. It didn’t fit, Sapnap was his name, not Nick. The name sounded like a total chad, and it made Sapnap sound like a dick. 

Ever since the basement, since Schlatt, Karl knew he had been overly cautious. He was always looking for something that wasn’t there, watching the shadows, apprehensive to leave Sapnap even for a second. But this time, there was something deep inside Karl’s gut that told him that it wasn't paranoia, and that something _was_ wrong. 

That feeling only increased as the house came into view, tucked into the trees, almost completely hidden behind the foliage. The pale blue paint was chipped, the shingles on the roof crooked, looking seconds away from falling completely, and the lawn was yellow, almost completely dead and overtaken by dried weeds. 

Whoever lived there clearly didn’t care about upkeep. 

Even though the outside of the house looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, through a window they could see the warm glow of lanterns, and shadows of people walking back and forth. 

Karl felt Sapnap tense when he saw the movement, his breath stuttering in his chest. He took his boyfriends hand, rubbing as much warmth and comfort as he possibly could into the man beside him. Karl was not a fighter, by any means, but he would fight battle after battle to keep Sapnap safe and happy.

He had heard Sapnap’s soft sobs in the middle of the night, when he thought Karl was asleep. He noticed how he flinched whenever Dream was mentioned, or how he seemed more and more broken every day without George. He tried to hide it, but Karl knew him better than that.

George had been back, he heard, when he was in a coma. Sapnap barely mentioned it, hesitant to talk about it. He was clearly not handling seeing him and then him leaving yet again well. 

He heard Tommy and Tubbo talking about him, he had never before seen the two teens so vulnerable. They were trying their best to keep it together, but it was clear that George’s absence was affecting everyone more than they let on. Whether he was 'close' with them or not. 

And then there was Wilbur. He came and went, working diligently with Sapnap to search for George. There was something between them, he just knew. Sapnap did too, but they never brought it up. Wilbur was having a hard enough time as it was, he didn't need to explain whatever they had shared while on the run. 

He hated that he didn’t get to meet him. He hated that Schlatt got the jump on him. But most of all, he hated how much pain there was in all of his friends that he just couldn’t fix. The only person who could make everything okay was gone, and as much as he hated to think about what could be happening to him, he knew when George did come back he wouldn’t be the same man that Wilbur and Sapnap knew and loved. 

Looking up, Karl pulled his boyfriends attention onto him, wrapping his hands around Sapnap’s neck, threading his fingers through his hair and pulling him into a kiss. Sapnap sighed against his lips, melting into his touch.

He eventually pulled away, resting his forehead against Sapnap’s shoulder, and running his hands over the expanse of his back, “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Positive.”

Karl nodded, taking his hand back in his. When they reached the front door, he watched as Sapnap stared at the wood with furrowed brows, lip pulled between his teeth. 

He didn’t say anything, letting him take as much time as he needed to bring himself up to knocking. 

Eventually, he raised his hand, knocking on the door, strong hands shaking. Karl once again rubbed circles on the back of his palm, trying to ease as much of his anxiety as he could. 

It didn’t take long for the door to open, a short woman with striking black hair greeting them with wide eyes and a small smile, though it faltered when she made eye contact with Sapnap. 

“Hi, uh, sorry, have we met before?” She asked, her voice warm, comforting, like the human embodiment of cinnamon. But Karl still didn’t trust it. Through the now open door, he could see what seemed to be the opposite of the outside of the house. Worn, lived in furniture, lively soft yellow wallpaper with wildflowers and butterflies, the smell of a fresh baked apple pie hitting their noses and making Karl’s stomach growl. 

He looked back to Sapnap, who was frozen, mouth agape. Karl pursed his lips into a thin smile, holding his hand out to the woman, trying to give his boyfriend a second to breathe, “Hi, I’m Karl,” He greeted, “This is my boyfriend, Sapnap,” He cleared his throat, letting Sapnap decide where to go from there. 

The woman nodded, slowly, like she didn't know why she was still talking to the strangers. She kept smiling regardless, “Well, boys, what can I do for you? Are you lost?” 

Sapnap shook his head, inhaling sharply and gathering her attention, “I, my-my real name is Nick,” He stuttered. Karl had to bite his lip to keep from sneering at the name. 

The woman froze, her smile dropping and eyes glossing over as she stared at Sapnap, scanning over his body as she took him in, “Are, are you-" She stuttered, though it came across more as a whisper, voice breaking as a lone tear broke through her waterline and stained the apple of her cheek. 

Sapnap nodded, gasping when she launched herself in his direction, wrapping her tan arms around him. When he returned the hug, Karl was astutely aware of how out of place he felt. He tried to step back and give them space, but Sapnap reached out again, keeping him in place. 

“Come in, come in,” She laughed, watery but kind, guiding them into the warm house, “My name is Shirley, by the way, you’re just in time, we just pulled the pie out of the oven.” 

“We?” Sapnap asked, the floorboards creaking as they walked further into the house, to where Karl assumed was the kitchen. However, they froze as they entered the room and saw a man, sitting at the table, expressionless and reading a book, his eyebrows raising when he noticed the new people.

The man set down his book, looking between them with a frown, “Shirley? Who are these people?” He asked, his eyes flicking to their interlocked hands ever so slightly. Karl’s stomach twisted as he prepared himself for the same back-handed comments that the old man made the day before. L’Manburg may be extraordinarily flawed, but at least they never had to worry about people stuck in the past with narrow-minded views. 

“It’s Nick,” She replied breathlessly, motioning to the table, a quiet request for them to sit, which they obliged, “And his boyfriend, Karl, right?” When Karl nodded, she continued, “He came back.”

The man’s eyes softened, a tense silence falling between them as they waited for him to speak. Karl’s foot tapped against the ground, as he anxiously waited to see how he reacted. He couldn’t imagine how tense Sapnap was feeling comparatively. He sat his hand on his thigh, offering him an anchor, a lifeline to rely on. 

Finally, the man stood, walking towards Sapnap, before enveloping him in a large hug, “Welcome home,” he said, looking at Karl from his spot behind Sapnap and smiling. He nodded when they made eye contact, and mouthed a ‘thank you’, tears making his eyes glassy and reflective in the soft lighting of the kitchen. 

Karl nodded, his worries significantly lessened now that he knew they weren’t in immediate danger. Still, even despite the warm home and hearth energy the couple was exuding, something felt painfully... _off_. He scanned the kitchen and the small snippet of the hallway he could see, looking for something that showed him what he was looking for. 

It all seemed too good to be true. 

“I”m sorry I didn’t invite you in right away,” Shirley spoke, bringing them slices of the apple pie they smelt from the doorway, “We’ve had people try to break in and cause trouble before, we’re a bit overly-cautious now.” 

Sapnap cleared his throat, thanking her for the pie before answering, “It’s okay, we understand.” Karl huffed, a small laugh escaping his throat as him and Sapnap shared a look, they understood more than the two could ever know. 

The man, who had introduced himself as Christopher, wiped his eyes, clearing his throat before speaking, “How did you find us? Where have you been?” 

“The Dream SMP, or I guess L’Manburg now,” Sapnap explained, smiling as he shoveled some of the pastry into his mouth. Karl didn’t miss how the couple tensed and shared a look at the mention of the cities. He took that as his smidgen of proof that there was something they were hiding from them and pledged to find out more. 

“Didn’t L’Manburg just get blown up?” Shirley asked, settling on the other side of her husband, “And the king of the SMP disappeared, right?” 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t proof. They just happened to be up to speed with the current events of the cities not far off. Karl clenched his jaw, before ignoring the ebbing feeling in his gut. Sapnap had just reunited with his family, he needed Karl to be supportive, not accusatory. 

Sapnap cleared his throat, sharing another look with Karl, “Uh, yeah, I-uh, I was one of the ones who built the SMP,” he explained, smiling sheepishly when the couple’s eyes widened, “The guy who blew up L’Manburg is actually a friend of mine, now.”

Karl bit back his laugh, looking at Sapnap as he continued, “And the current king of the SMP tried to kill Karl a couple months ago.’ 

“Oh my god,” Shirley gasped, eyes wide as she looked between them, “Are you okay?” 

The two nodded nonchalantly, before taking another bite of pie. Karl had to admit, it was really good. The crust was perfectly flaky, savory against the sweet apple filling. Maybe he was just imagining the feeling, maybe they were okay. 

“Can I ask you something?” Sapnap asked suddenly, his tongue jutting out to lick the leftover sugar from his lips, before swallowing thickly, “What happened?” 

Despite the simple question, Karl knew what Sapnap really wanted to know. _Why did he have to spend his childhood in an orphanage? Why did he have to be rescued by another kid? Why did he have to suffer?_

Karl leaned his head on his shoulder, making sure he knew he was there. 

“First there’s something we should get out of the way,” Christopher said, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. Both Karl and Sapnap knew exactly where this was going. 

Sapnap stood up straight, interrupting him, “You want to know if I have the curse,” he said bluntly, fiddling his fingers against the table. 

“Oh, darling, it’s not a curse,” Shirley piped in, reaching across the table and grabbing his hands, “It’s a gift.”

Sapnap roughly pulled his hands back, face pinched and scoffing, “I catch things on fire when I’m upset, tell me how _that’s_ a gift.” 

Christopher sighed, before taking his mug of tea, holding it beneath his palms. Soon after, the liquid bubbled, and steam barreled out of the glass, showing off his own display of heat, “You didn’t have anyone to teach you how to use it, but Shirley is right, it gives you power others can only dream of.”

“The village we used to live in,” Shirley explained, “They didn’t like people who were different to them.” Karl huffed, thinking briefly about the old man from the day before, before focusing back on her, “When they found out I was pregnant, and that you had a chance of getting the gift, they drove us out of town.” 

“We thought it was fine, that we could handle it,” Christopher piped in, his voice thick as he recalled what happened, “But when you were born, people showed up to take you away from us. They thought if they took you out of the environment, the power would just _go away_.” 

Sapnap scoffed, his hand settling on Karl’s knee. He took his hand in his own, grounding him. Karl’s own anger burned inside of him, thinking about everything Sapnap had been through, just because someone else decided what was best for him. Just like Dream. 

“Can you teach me?” Sapnap asked, hand clenching around Karl’s knee, “How to control it, I mean. I need to help someone, and if I learned how to use it rather than fight it, I could be a lot more helpful.”

“Of course, Nick,” Christopher replied. This time, Karl couldn’t stop his nose from curling. That wasn’t his name. Sapnap didn’t correct them. “We’ll start tomorrow morning? Why don’t I show you to the guest bedroom, I'm sure you're tired.” 

After the door was closed, and Karl joined Sapnap in the bed, he couldn’t fight the wave of unease that returned. Only this time, Sapnap noticed his discomfort, his eyebrows furrowing and his hand rubbing up and down his side, the light touch of his fingertips tickling Karl’s skin.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered, exhaustion clouding his voice, making it deeper, sending bolts of warmth throughout Karl's chest. He smiled softly, placing feather-light kisses on Sapnap's cheeks and on the bridge of his nose, before wrapping his arm around him, sharing their warmth under the thin blankets. 

“Nothing I, I just have a bad feeling,” Karl admitted, cheeks growing hot as he realized he had absolutely nothing to back him up, “Just- don’t they seem a little… off?” 

At that, Sapnap’s eyes shot open, his lips pulling into a tight line, “Off?” His hand stilled on Karl’s back, “I just found my parents for the first time, can we not try to find something wrong with them? Not everyone is a villain.” 

Karl sighed, burrowing his head in Sapnap’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, to quell his worries. It was something that had started while he was still bed-ridden. Sapnap would lay by his side, Karl would lay his head on his chest, and he would use the rhythm of his heart to drown out Schlatt's voice that rang non-stop through his mind. 

“Yeah, yeah you're probably right.”

“I know I am,” Sapnap chuckled, kissing the top of Karl’s head, “You’re used to being the only one who takes care of me, it’s just an adjustment.” 

Nodding, Karl relaxed further. Sapnap’s soft snoring soon filled the dark room, but despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t sleep. Even with Sapnap’s completely logical explanation, he still felt off. He just needed to make sure they weren’t making a mistake. There was nothing wrong with being overly cautious. 

* * *

Tubbo sat at his desk, the pen in which he was supposed to be signing papers pooling sticky black ink onto the wooden surface, but he was too distracted to notice, let alone care. 

He couldn't focus, as he couldn't stop thinking about his conversation with HBomb. 

_As soon as HBomb introduced himself, Tubbo backed away, his legs pressing against the fence that kept everyone from falling into the pit below. His heart thundered in his chest, and the bile that he had swallowed down rose back up. He was the mercenary, the one that worked for Dream to find Wilbur and George, and now he worked with Schlatt. He was surely there to hurt him._

_“What do you want?” He sneered, his breath unsteady as he stared the man down, though his shorter height shattered his intimidation, “Both Schlatt and I signed the contract, what more could he ask for?”_

_HBomb stepped forward, suddenly reaching a hand out to Tubbo, wrapping his fingers around his wrist once again as he roughly pulled him from the fence, before he could even fight back, “Relax, Mr. President,” he said, scanning the surrounding area for anyone that could be eavesdropping before continuing, voice low, “I’m on your side.”_

_Tubbo shook his head, venom pumping through his chest with each and every beat of his heart, “I don't believe you,” He snarled, “I know you were one of Dream’s bitches. Schlatt probably hired you to torment me.”_

_“You're right,” he replied solemnly, “I did work for Dream,” HBomb walked away from him, and despite Tubbo’s better instincts, he followed. They ended up on a bench, overlooking the majority of L’Manburg._

_HBomb leaned against the back of the oak bench, eyes closed and a hand rubbing through his hair, “I'm going to tell you a story, Mr. President, then, at the end… you can decide whether or not you can trust me.”_

_“Long before the Dream SMP was even a thing, I was a guard, in a large city not far from here,” He took a deep breath, “I was tasked with finding these three runaways, as they had caused a lot of problems and had gathered a fairly large bounty on their heads.”_

_Tubbo quickly put two and two together, his eyes widened._

_“They were the 'Dream Team’,” HBomb scoffed, eyebrows pinching, he took another deep breath, “I knew Dream was a good fighter, the tales of the masked teenager taking out trained and weaponed guards constantly circled the city, along with his two mischievous sidekicks.”_

_A painful pounding was rising in the back of Tubbo’s head as he processed the new information. He had no idea the Dream Team were criminals, he had just sort of assumed they'd always been in the SMP. Eventually, he swallowed thickly, “So if you were trying to capture them, how did you end up working for them?”_

_“Not them, Mr. President-”_

_“Tubbo.”_

_“Okay, not them, Tubbo,” HBomb explained, looking the president in the eyes, “Dream.”_

_Tubbo swallowed thickly._

_“Even back then we knew Dream was the ringleader, the other two were nuisances, sure, but Dream was the only truly dangerous one in the group.”_

_“There was one time, another guard and I were headed to relieve a group of their post,” HBomb continued, turning back away from Tubbo and looking towards the sky, his breathing becoming shakier with every breath, shoulders shaking as he fought for control. His Adam's apple bounced as he swallowed the tears down his throat._

_A beat of silence passed, the only sound Tubbo could hear being the drum of his pounding heart._

_“We found them, throats slit and a smile carved into their mouths, ear to ear.”_

_Tubbo sucked in a harsh breath, one hand flying to cover his mouth and the other resting on HBombs shoulder, eyes wide. He knew Dream was a monster, but every time he learned something new about what he did, who he actually was, Tubbo wanted to vomit. He even liked him, at the start, he saw him as an older brother. But time and time again he proved that he always was and always will be a killer first, person second._

_He worried for Wilbur and Phil, who were possibly making their way to him at that very moment. They could fight, but clearly so could Dream._

_“Wait,” Tubbo said, brown eyes wide and filled with obvious worry, “How could George and Sapnap be his friend? Was it all a lie? I need to stop Wilbur-” He stood up, chest heaving as he tried to move away, but once again, HBomb took his wrist._

_“George and Sapnap didn't know,” He explained, eyes hardening as he calmed down the boy, and hid away his own emotions behind a thinly veiled mask, Tubbo briefly wondered how much practice he had doing that exact thing._

_“Dream was very careful about them never finding out, and made sure we kept it that way, they were never filled in our ‘jobs’.”_

_Tubbo tentatively sat back down, feeling the burning of his scars flare up and sharp pain shoot through his limbs. He clenched his jaw, willing it away, trying to ignore it and focus back on HBomb._

_“Do you have someone that you care about?” HBomb asmed, “Someone that you'd do anything for?” Tubbo chewed on his lip, watching the man carefully as the wave of pain subsided. It was almost promised to return, however, as it always returned._

_HBomb’s eyes were glassy, far away. He wondered what he was remembering right then, “What am I saying, you're a child, of course not.”_

_He rolled his eyes at the use of ‘child’, but thought back to Wilbur. He was willing to travel to the ends of the Earth for George, risking his own life in the process. Unconditional love, no matter how much he tried to hide it._

_He didn't have someone like that, but he did have Tommy. He had Philza. Hell he'd even say he had Jack Manifold. He would do anything to keep them safe, they were his family. Although it wasn't biological, it was real._

_Focusing back on HBomb, he didn't need him to say the words, he knew._

_“You're protecting someone.”_

_It was a statement, not a question. Filled with the burning realization that maybe not all villains were bad because they wanted to be. Some did bad things because they would rather sacrifice their own morals than sacrifice their own people._

_HBomb was trapped, stuck in this shitty world just like the rest of them. Guilt ebbed in his stomach, he would do the same thing if it meant protecting the people he loved. HBomb wasn't a bad guy._

_“He needed someone on the inside,” HBomb continued, pinching the bridge of his nose, “And then that wasn't enough, he needed someone to do his dirty work. I didn't fight it, I mean how could I? Not when he has someone ready to kill my family at the drop of a hat.”_

_“So what changed?” Tubbo asked, not able to ignore his burning curiosity, “Why do you want to help now?”_

_HBomb’s head fell into his hands, his elbows against his knees, “Schlatt is a different kind of evil, he knows about my family, and I have no doubt he'd hurt them. But the things he does, Tubbo, he's a monster like i've never seen before.”_

_“Wh-what does he do?” Tubbo asked, barely audible. He didn't trust himself to speak louder than a whisper, sure that his voice would betray him and show how scared he actually was. He fought the urge to scratch the burn on his side, an anxious tick he picked up while he was bedridden and healing, waiting for Schlatt to come finish the job._

_“I'll spare you the details, but know his ‘shipments’ are not as innocent as they seem,” He answered vaguely, still minutely aware that he was talking to a minor, president or not, no teenager needed to hear about the skeletons in Schlatt's closet._

_“That's not the reason I'm here, though.”_

_Tubbo raised an eyebrow, lungs burning as they worked overtime to supply him with enough oxygen to stay conscious and upright._

_“I want you to stay away from Schlatt, it's going to get ugly, Tubbo, very soon.”_

_“But I signed the contract-”_

_“Promise me you'll stay away from him!” HBomb snapped, muttering an apology when Tubbo recoiled._

_Tubbo blinked the tears from his eyes, willing his heart not explode with how fast it was beating. A long minute of uncomfortable silence passed, before Tubbo answered._

_“I promise.”_

_HBomb stood up and left, presumably heading back to Schlatt, leaving Tubbo reeling on the bench. Slowly, he looked down to his side, to his hand hidden by his thigh and uncrossed his sweaty fingers._

_He had never been one for staying out of things._

Tubbo jumped when his door slammed open, hitting the wall and sending a loud bang through his office, an angry Tommy Innit stomping through the frame and encroaching upon the cluttered desk. 

“Tubbo!” He yelled, incapable of an inside voice, crossing his arms over his chest and his eyebrows furrowing, “Look I don't know _what_ happened, or what _nefarious_ secrets you're keeping from me-”

Tubbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics, but let him continue with his tantrum regardless. 

“But goddamn it, you are my best friend and I can't stand having you not talk to me! So please, big man, tell me what's going on.”

The blonde was practically begging by the end of his rant, anger replaced by discernible upset. 

The president could have cried, relieved that his closest friend wasn't completely pissed off at him. 

He rose from his chair and greeted the blonde with a mischievous smile. 

“Do you wanna go investigate secret Schlatt shipments with me?”

* * *

Warm, sandy beaches, tall palm trees, crystal-clear blue water. A place that should be described as paradise. But to Wilbur it was just another step between being reunited with George. If he was lucky, it would be the last. 

He basically leapt out of the boat, cool water splashing his ankles and soaking through his shoes as he didn't wait for Phil to tie it to the dock. His heart was racing, the thought of holding still, or taking his time completely out of the question. 

The island life was bustling with bright buildings and the boisterous sound of children's laughter. The friendly conversations and lively music fell into the background, as Wilbur approached the first adult he saw, a woman, leaning against the wall of a building and overlooking the dock. 

“Excuse me,” He greeted, skipping pleasantries to delve into the questions he desperately needed to ask, “I’m looking for a man, two actually, one is tall with a mask, a smiley face, and the other is shorter, brunette, probably very quiet.”

The woman raised a hand to shush him, pearly whites flashing as she spoke. Everything about the woman oozed patience and laid back energy, neither of which did Wilbur have.

“Now, now, darlin’, take a breath, you look like you're going to pass out, why don't we get you some water.” 

“No, thank you,” Wilbur denied, instinctively shaking his head. He faintly heard the heavy footsteps behind him as Phil caught up, “We really need to find them, now, or anyone who might have seen them.”

“Listen, I have seen the man you describe-” 

Both Wilbur and Phil’s attention piqued, eyes wide. 

“-And I'll tell you about it, but on one condition,” They tensed, preparing for the worst, but ready and willing to do whatever it took to get the information they sought after, “You let me get you some water and food. You look like you've been through hell.” 

Wilbur begrudgingly agreed, following the woman into one of the bright buildings, this particular one a warm coral color made of terracotta and clay, potted plants hanging from macrame and windchimes playing a soft melody in the breeze. Despite the tense circumstances, the building was incredibly comforting. 

Before the travelers knew it, they were seated at an old table, white paint chipping off the aged wood and glasses of cold water in front of them, an assortment of aged meats, cheeses and fruit in the center. 

“I think I know the fella y'all are looking for,” The woman sat down, tying her hair out of her face, “Though it was only one of ‘em, and it was ages ago.” 

Just the smidgen of hope, a beam of light through murky waters, filled Wilbur’s chest with anticipation. His eyes shut out of reflex, lips pursing as he fought to keep himself from breaking down right then and there. He could feel how close they were. 

Thankfully, Phil noticed his state and took the lead, leaning forward, laying his fingers over Wilbur’s wrist, “Go on, please,” He said, voicing the words Wilbur couldn't form, “Anything helps.”

“He goes by Dream, but I'm sure y'all already knew that if you're searching for him.” 

Wilbur’s nose curled at Dream's name, a visceral pain burning through his side like the wound was still fresh. He swiped his fingers over the scar, reminding himself that the blood had long since run dry, and that he was healed, safe. 

“How… Why did he come here?” Wilbur asked, wincing when his voice cracked. Grateful that no one mentioned it, he exhaled sharply and waited for her answer. 

The woman leaned back in her chair, the worn wood creaking as she did so. She hummed, fingers fiddling in her pockets, searching for something. Eventually she pulled out a joint and a flint and steel, she held it to her lips, lit it, and took a long pull, Wilbur tried not to grimace at the smell of smoke that burned his nose. 

“He talked about a land, west from here,” She explained, “Near a forest. He was building a house, he said he was preparing for something.”

“Preparing?” Philza egged, sipping the cool water to fight the offending heat of the island. Wilbur followed suit, sucking in a piece of ice and swishing it in his mouth. 

“He didn't go into detail,” She continued, hand moving to hold the joint over an ashtray as she continued, “We only had one conversation, but he said he was looking for ingredients for potions, and thought he might find them here.” 

She took another long pull, “He was a strange fella, that one, never seen a mask like that in all my life.” 

Philza and Wilbur shared a look. 

“That's one way to put it.”

* * *

George sat on the porch, tired eyes watching Dream pull weeds in the flowerbed. He wondered how many of the weeds Dream pulled were secretly poisonous, and the sliver of bitterness inside of him wanted to ask. He bit his tongue. 

Talking back and picking fights wasn't going to help him. He already had his chance to escape, to fight back, and he wimped out. 

He wanted to hit himself for falling straight back into Dream’s manipulation, despite knowing better. He really thought he could handle isolation with the man. He was that stupid. 

Dream was right after all, his trust and naïveté was once again his downfall. He let his person feelings cloud his decisions. And now, there was no escape. Even if there was, would George take it? 

In theory, in his numerous daydreams, he played out the scenarios of pulling off some elaborate escape, returning to Wilbur’s open arms and living happily ever after. But after the flower, he knew that in practice he couldn't be trusted with that responsibility.

Turning your back on someone you love, someone you _loved_ , is a difficult thing. And even though George wanted to hate Dream for everything he had done, for hurting Wilbur, the dawning realization came upon him. 

Wilbur wasn't there. Dream was. There was no use in trying to keep his rage burning, it wasn't hurting Dream, only himself.

He wasn't a hateful person to start with. He wondered if letting Wilbur go and accepting his current life was the only thing left he could do. 

Guilt ebbed in his chest, and he shut his eyes, leaning back against the wooden planks of the deck. He lost. He let Wilbur down. 

He should have cried, but accepting his fate filled his chest with comfortable apathy, ridding the pain, the guilt… everything. 

The sun would set soon, so George peeled himself off of the deck and went inside. He didn't deserve to look at the moon, and feel the beams of light on his skin. He didn't deserve anything. 

Climbing into his bed, George wrapped the blanket around his hand, pulling it over his head. He wasn't tired, but he didn't want to be awake for one more second.

Flashes of the nights at the inn, wrapped in Wilbur's embrace as he comforted him from his nightmares plagued his mind. He couldn't escape the longing to be back, with Wilbur's long, curly hair splayed over his shoulder as he slept, no matter how much it hurt to remember. 

His breath felt heavy in his lungs, the blanket constricting him but he had no energy left to push it off. He faintly heard the front door open and close, and not long after the bedroom door did the same, Dream stepping inside. 

He was tall, he was strong, George remembered the days he used to swoon over the man, he used to blush profusely at his obvious flirting. It seemed so foreign, and now, all he could think about was that Wilbur was taller. 

“Is everything okay, Georgie?” He asked, ripping George from his existential crisis, walking to the side of the bed and threading his calloused hands over George’s forehead and through his hair. Rationally he knew that he shouldn't find the touch comforting, but he was so touch starved, just the gentle palm running through his hair made him melt. 

Could he even move on from Wilbur? 

Why was he thinking about that? 

“Why are you in bed so early?” Dream asked, George couldn't tell if the concern was genuine, or if he was just getting better at lying. 

“M’tired,” George whispered, leaning into Dream’s touch out of reflex, before forcing himself back. He may have stopped fighting after the flower and the cake, but he still had dignity. He felt sick when he noticed Dream’s smirk and possessive eyes, his fingers tightening in his hair, shots of pain shooting through his scalp. 

_Dream always got what he wanted._

Dream eventually backed away from him, lifting the hem of his shirt and throwing it into the laundry basket. George averted his gaze, his breath stuttering in his chest and eyes burning with unshed tears. The slightest bit of comfort he had in the bed shattered as Dream walked back to his side, kneeling down and placing kisses where his fingers had been moments before. 

He was suddenly astutely aware of his vulnerability in the bed, but he couldn't get out without raising red flags. He didn't want to fight anymore, he just wanted Dream to be nice. 

George’s lungs burned, and fear spilled through his body, he instinctively curled into fetal position. 

What exactly _did_ Dream want? 

“I'm going to go shower,” He kissed George’s head one last time, leaving the vile traces of saliva on his skin. He slowly stood up from his place by the bed and headed into the bathroom. George almost cried in relief.

“Afterwards I’ll make dinner, you take a little nap, Georgie.” 

George didn't close his eyes for one second, all desires to sleep away the day abandoning him. He waited till he heard water running to relax any further, and after dinner, he made sure Dream was in the other room, and that his bedroom door remained shut. 

He didn't sleep a wink that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would y'all kill me if i did a part 3 🤪
> 
> i have an idea,,, but we'll see how this goes

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: slushiesforcar
> 
> i appreciate all comments, even if i don't answer them <3
> 
> Stay safe and healthy


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